Past Encounters
by Random Character Generator
Summary: "We aren't supposed to meet…Any of us…Ever." It's a trip Constance makes every year on the same date. This year someone is waiting. (CITV 1998)
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes you have projects that try your confidence; you work and you strive and yet everything comes to nought. Sometimes you have projects and they spark and grow and become something far greater than the sum of their constituent parts. Sometimes you have projects and they are things that should never, ever, have been attempted. They should have been shutdown at the outset and not permitted to grow. They are dark and they are dangerous, and left unchecked they become demons that damage the soul.

* * *

A piercing chill filled the early morning air and the thick bank of fog that had descended upon the hilltop overnight showed precious little signs of lifting. A solitary figure could be seen moving silently along the narrow path that snaked its way across the topmost ridge. It was said that on a good day you could stand on the top of the hill and see for miles. This particular morning the world was shrouded in a blanket of grey, and that suited the woman who now made her way over the brow of the hill. She had not come all this way for the view of rolling hills. This was a sort of pilgrimage; a trip she made on the same date each year.

She pushed back the hood of the heavy cloak that sat upon her shoulders and looked down at the valley below. Through the fog she could just make out the ramshackle farm that nestled into the hillside; an untidy collection of buildings that seemed to cling to the steep slope. A faint haze of orange broke the monotony of grey as the curtains at a downstairs window were drawn partially back, and the light from within spilled out into the small cobbled courtyard beyond. The drizzle air settled in her hair and splashed softly upon her face. Her features were imposing… some might even venture to say striking, but the woman cared little for the view of others. She was content to let them think what they wanted and to go about life in the manner that suited her best.

She had begun her journey as soon as the sun had started to set. She preferred the solitude of flying at night. There was less likelihood of a chance encounter with a non-witch, and the inevitable explaining that that entailed.  
She had arrived at the farm a little after four in the morning and parked her broom, as was customary, in the small shed that was left unlocked for her, before letting herself into the cottage. Her host always insisted on leaving her something to eat and drink, although she never requested anything and seldom ate a morsel of what was offered  
The sheets on the narrow bed were freshly laundered, but she only rested for a couple of hours before rising again and making her way up the hill. There was little by way of a path to follow, and the route was not one best navigated in the dark. Tree roots criss-crossed the earth, ready to trip the unwary, but she had made the climb a number of times and was alert to its hazards.

The long grass tangled around her feet as she left the track and made her way across the open expanse of the field. The hem of her cloak brushing against the sodden earth but remaining resolutely dry.  
Her progress was watched by the wildlife that made the hilltop their home. The birds did not sing, but sat high in the branches of the naked trees and watched silently as the witch passed beneath. The foxes and rabbits ceased their own personal fight for survival as they felt the unmistakable tang of magic in the air. Everything was still; the only movement came from the tall witch in the black cloak.

She paused and looked down into the valley beneath her. How many years had she been making the trip? How many years had passed since that night? She pushed the thought away. She didn't want to dwell on what had happened. Memories of it had disturbed her sleep for the past two weeks and it had been almost a relief when the date had finally arrived.  
She crouched down and pressed one hand to the sodden earth. She muttered a few words beneath her breath before standing up again, her head still lowered, her eyes closed, her mind forcing her to recall exactly what had passed. She would not ask for forgiveness; would not ask for the burden of guilt to be lifted. What was a witch but the sum total of her experiences?

"Con….Constance…Is that you?"  
The voice was quiet, hesitant, but still caused Constance's heart to race. She had thought she was alone; she hadn't imagined that anyone else would be awake at this hour, much less have made the climb to the top of the hill. She spun round to face the newcomer, a growing sense of unease building within her. She hadn't seen the face, but even after all this time, she was certain that she recognised the voice.  
"You came…" the voice trailed off, confidence fading. "I wasn't sure that you would." A nervous glance, a check that she wasn't stepping over some unspoken mark. "I wasn't sure if you still did. I mean, I've never…"  
"I come every year." Constance broke across the woman's nervous twittering, silently wishing that she would shut up and leave.  
Nothing more was said, and after a few moments Constance glanced over, seeing the way that her companion was now twisting her long braided hair between her fingers. The woman had aged. She supposed they all had, it was something she'd not given much thought to. That was a lie. There was one of their number she thought about at this time each year; wondering what she would have looked like, wondering how different things could have been.  
"You shouldn't be here," she told her flatly. "You shouldn't be here at the same time as me. We all swore."  
A slight smile tugged at the edges of the woman's mouth. "You were never one for following orders Constance. Have you really changed that much?"  
Constance stiffened at the mention of the past. It wasn't a place she wanted to revisit. "One of us should leave. If it's not going to be you, then I must." She made to step away but paused as the woman raised a hand to stop her. The hand never closed over Constance's arm, but hung there for a few moments, mere centimetres away, before dropping listlessly back to the woman's side.  
"Go if you must. I just thought that maybe…after all this time…perhaps…"  
"Perhaps what?" The question escaped from her mouth before she could stop herself.  
"A drink. One drink, one hour of your company that's all I'm asking for."  
Constance shook her head. "I shouldn't be talking to you like this. We aren't supposed to meet…Any of us…Ever."  
"It's been twenty years." There was a slight whine to the woman's tone, a hint of desperation in her voice.  
"I don't need reminding of that." Constance snapped back, instantly regretting the action and softening the tone of her voice. "Look, you shouldn't have come. Whilst I am glad that you too remember, we are not supposed to meet."  
"Remember! Of course I remember. How could you think that any of us would not!"  
Constance was immediately on her guard. "Any of us? Tell me that you haven't spoken to any of the others? Tell me that you haven't done anything so foolhardy as trying to contact any of them?"  
"Of course not."  
The answer was too quick, too hurried.  
"I have to go….now."  
"Wait, please." The woman pushed a scrap of paper into Constance's palm and closed her hand around it. "Burn it if you feel you must, but we have to talk."  
Constance closed her eyes and concentrated on the small room with its narrow bed. She had to leave the hillside, leave the company of the woman standing next to her. Promises had been made, rules had been imposed; now was not the time to break even one of them.  
She opened her eyes again as the sound of a fire crackling in a grate reached her ears. The small whitewashed walls of the bedroom were once again surrounding her on all sides. She glanced across at the fire, knowing that her host must have entered the room to tend to it. Ordinarily she would have stayed for the day, have made polite, if slightly awkward, conversation but today was different. She had to get back to the school as quickly as she could. She had to get away from the place before the witches council got wind of the meeting that had taken place. She may not have instigated it, but she had broken rules by even speaking to the woman. She wished she could stop her hands from shaking as she hastily gathered together the small number of items she had thought to bring with her. She had believed herself free of the past, but it looked very much as though it had just caught up with her.


	2. Chapter 2

Overblow castle was seldom quiet. Since its transformation from defensive structure to school for witches, the building had seen many changes, some by design, but others the direct result of wayward, but well-intentioned spells.  
Amelia Cackle was the current custodian of the rambling collection of buildings, and she took the responsibilities of maintaining the castle very seriously. There were, she suspected, parts of the east wing that were only held together by force of magic. She made a mental note to ask her deputy to investigate the matter on her return. She puffed out her cheeks as she descended the spiral staircase and emerged back into the hallway where she had started out from two hours earlier. The place had been well overdue a magical checkup, and she was relieved to find that there weren't more areas of the castle crumbling away under the weight of errant magic. She brushed tendrils of cobwebs from her hair and headed to the staff room, where Mrs Tapioca had promised there would be a pot of tea waiting for her.

With the girls away for half-term, dining in the great hall seemed an extravagance. Amelia made her way into the cosier confines of the staff room and plopped down on her usual chair. A pot of tea sat on the low table next to her and she hummed contentedly to herself as she went about the serious business of pouring the perfect cup. There was a rack of golden brown toast, and a fresh jar of honey vying for her attention, but nothing was going to come between her and her well-deserved first cup of tea of the day.

She wrapped her hands around the over-sized cup and blew across its surface. Whilst she loved the school when it was bustling and full of life, there was a certain amount of enjoyment to be had in its rare moments of tranquillity. She glanced in the direction of the rather battered cupboard that stood against one wall. There was always a good chance that the school's chanting teacher would be holed up inside of it. For reasons Amelia never understood, the cupboard appeared to be more like home to Miss Bat than the staff quarters that had been provided. She held her breath and listened intently for the tell tale sound of her gentle snoring. Finally satisfied that she was truly on her own, she placed the cup down on the table and prepared to conjure up the magazine that was her guilty pleasure. Witches; certainly senior witches, were not supposed to be slaves to material goods. Amelia didn't know the witch who was responsible for coming up with that particular rule, but she wished just once that she could meet them and tell them exactly what she thought of them. Warm buttered toast and a read of the gossip pages was in order; a suitable reward for the work she had already completed.

Tea sloshed over the side of the cup and scalded her fingers as, without warning, the door to the room was flung open and Constance entered, sweeping past her without acknowledgement. It was early, far too early for Constance to have returned from her expedition, and the expression of unease on the woman's face was more than a little unsettling. Constance was the one who faced down out of control spells without flinching. She was the one who dispersed magic; picking apart its intricate threads in seconds, knowing that a misreading of it could be fatal. Unease was not an expression she wore well. All thoughts of conjuring the magazine were lost from her mind as she watched her deputy pace back and forth in front of the window.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Amelia asked the question, not really expecting anything by way of a response. Opening up and sharing was not something that her deputy indulged in. There was, now she came to think of it, precious little that she did that could be placed under the heading of indulging. She was so busy musing on her chosen theme that she nearly missed the reply when it came.  
"I saw one of them… at The Grange…she was there when I went to pay my respects."  
Amelia's eyes widened as she watched the taller woman sink down onto one of the chairs; knowing immediately what she was referring to. "But you're.."  
"I know."  
Amelia looked across the table at her. Constance's head was bowed, her hands clasped together, resting on the table top. "I take it that you're not going to meet her again?"  
"It was hardly my choice to meet her this time." There was a puff of annoyance. "I didn't mean…"  
Amelia waved the apology away. "I'm sorry, but you rather caught me on the hop. It wasn't something I was expecting you to say. How did she find you?"  
"I don't know." The tone in her voice told Amelia that she was worried. "She knew I'd be there. That was the impression I got. She tried to make it look like a casual meeting, but she was never that good an actor. She knew I'd be there and, although she didn't say, she wanted to tell me something."  
Amelia ran her fingers lightly across the top of the table. "Are you…That is I mean….Will you…."  
Constance let out an impatient huff of a breath. "I am duty bound to report it if that's what you're hinting at."  
"Are you sure that's wise? It's not as though you were the one who initiated the contact."  
"From what I recall, the ruling was quite clear. Any contact and they need to be told." She shot a look in Amelia's direction. "I have no choice. I have to report it."

"Morning!" The cheery voice of Imogen Drill broke the atmosphere that had been building. The young games teacher stumbled into the room, her knees almost buckling beneath the weight of the clothes she was carrying; only the top of her head visible above the pile. Her restricted vision meant that she caught her right hip against the table and toppled forward, spilling the mountain of clothes across the table.  
"Sorry, sorry. Thought it was time for a bit of spring cleaning. Came back early this morning with the feeling that it was time to de-clutter and start afresh. Felt that it was only right once in a while to take stock of what you've got and…." She tailed off as she looked between the two women and realised that neither had been listening to a single word she'd said. That in itself wasn't entirely an unusual occurrence. "I get the feeling I shouldn't be here." She added as she picked up on the tension in the room.  
"Imogen, if you wouldn't mind. Constance and I…"  
"…have said all we need to." Constance finished for her as she rose to her feet. "Don't leave the room on my account Miss Drill. Miss Cackle, I will compose a letter, and I'd like you to assure me that you'll see it gets to the council before the day is out."  
"Constance!"  
There was no reply from the potions teacher, just a flick of her wrists as she vanished from the room.  
Imogen hastily shovelled the clothes onto the floor and took a seat. "I'm sorry Miss Cackle, I didn't realise Miss Hardbroom was here. I thought she'd gone away for a few days."  
"Hmmm?"  
She was still not being listened to. Amelia was staring at the space where Constance had been sitting.  
"Is there something going on that I should know about?" She waited for some sort of response. "Is she ok? I mean…" Imogen wasn't really sure exactly what she did mean, but there was something about the scene she'd walked in on that made her uneasy.  
"I'm sorry Imogen. This really isn't a good time. Please excuse me." Amelia bustled from the room, muttering something inaudible beneath her breath, leaving Imogen standing there wondering just what on earth was going on.

* * *

Constance waved a hand and sealed her room off from the rest of the castle, not wanting company at this moment in time; however well-meaning. She paced back and forth across the small space; her mind replaying over and over the meeting that had taken place that morning. Why had Alice, of all people, been there? What had the woman wanted? She'd sworn to never have contact with any of her former friends, and though she'd not been the one to arrange the meeting, she knew she was duty bound to report it. She clenched and unclenched her hands, trying to order her thoughts. It had been so many years; she had almost allowed herself to believe she was finally free of it. She'd long ago locked away the events of that night; buried them deep in her mind, used the suppression spells that had been instilled in her to quieten the memories. In a moment all that hard work was undone. Thoughts and emotions were stacking themselves one on top of the other, crowding into her head and threatening to overwhelm her. Amid the noise and imagery she heard it; the sound that she'd thought she'd rid herself of. It was there on the very edge of perception and she tried to force it completely from her mind.

Images were flashing before her eyes, sensory memories rushing through her, all demanding that she listen and remember, but she knew there was something else buried deep; something else that she desperately didn't want to reawaken. She closed her eyes, her hands bunched tightly into fists and attempted to regain control. She staggered as the waves of memory and emotion kept on coming. She threw out one hand; magic arcing from her fingertips and blackening the bare stone wall as it struck home.  
"No," she muttered the one word, and tried again to centre her thoughts. His voice was there, she had heard it and now she couldn't deny it. He was there on the very edge of her hearing, and she feared that she wouldn't have the strength to banish him completely

* * *

Alice tapped nervously on the door and waited to be granted permission to enter. It had taken her a good two hours to make the trek back down from the hillside, and from there the journey back to the meeting place hadn't been the easiest. She had replayed the meeting with Constance over and over in her mind. The reality of the frosty reception shattering the long-held hope that they could, one day, all be reunited. She was so caught up in her misery that she failed to hear the call from the other side of the door. She took a step back in surprise when the door popped open without warning.

"I'm sorry," she apologised automatically as she stepped over the threshold.  
"So?" the question came immediately. "She saw you?"  
Alice nodded and wound a long strand of braided hair between her fingers. "I spoke to her." She glanced at the witch who was seated on the far side of the desk. "She seems so different to the girl I remember."  
"Time has aged us all Alice. It has given advantages to some whilst denying others, but at the heart of it all we are still linked."  
"Where there is one, the others will follow."  
"As you say. She will come calling; now she has contact she will have no choice; her curiosity will eat away at her."  
There was unease in Alice's heart. She had done as her friend had asked, but it didn't sit right on her shoulders. "She could report the meeting to the council."  
"And bring the full scrutiny of the council to bear on the basis of a chance encounter?" There was a shake of the head. "No. She will come calling Alice… Mark my words. She will come and the coven will once again reconvene."


	3. Chapter 3

Amelia raised a hand and watched the skies, waiting for the arrival of the investigator from the witches council. She'd spent a good hour trying to talk Constance out of sending the report, or at the very least rewording her message, but her deputy was nothing if not stubborn. She had insisted that the message be sent exactly as she'd worded it and had then retired again to her room, asking only that she be informed when the investigator arrived.

What had started as a mere pinprick in the sky gradually grew larger as the witch on the broom flew closer. Only the previous year she'd had to wait three months for the witches council to send word they were granting the school approved status for a further year, but one mention of potential impropriety and they could manage to send someone within a day. She tried to keep her frustration in check as the flier brought her broom into land. The attempt failed as she realised who was riding atop the broom.

Hester Buckweed had been in the year above Amelia all through her schooling, and she couldn't think of one occasion throughout all that time where the woman had ever done a single charitable deed. She had, as far as Amelia could ascertain, always been destined for the most hated job within the wider witching community. No-one liked those who chose to judge their own and thought it their calling.

She plastered a neutral expression on her face and waited for the broom to land. The woman wore the same sour expression that Amelia remembered, but her dark eyes were bright, boring into her immediately. Age had not dimmed her intensity, and Amelia realised with a sinking heart, that this visit wasn't going to to be a mere formality.

"Good day to you." The hand was thrust out, the tone snappy, the tall hat wobbling slightly on top of the mop of untamed white hair.

Amelia returned the greeting and invited the witch into the school.

"So you finally inherited the family business then!" Hester noted, and Amelia had the distinct impression that she was trying to make it sound like a failure.

"I was always intending to take the school on," Amelia corrected her, managing to keep her voice light. "I never made any secret of my intentions."  
Hester removed her hat and brushed vigorously at a small mark on the brim. "I seem to remember your sister having the exact same intention." She paused for a beat. "And how is Agatha these days?"

Amelia pursed her lips, her sister's fugitive status was known to all within the witches council. "She is keeping her distance as she promised she would."

Hester tutted. "Such a shame that one so promising turned away so completely from the true path." She glanced up at the crumbling facade of the main building. "I have to say that I'm disappointed, although not completely surprised to be called here."

Amelia was determined not to be dragged into an argument this early. "Constance thought it best to speak to someone."

"Thought it best! Thought it best! When one is the subject of a council ruling, one adheres to it, one doesn't get the luxury of deciding what they think is best. I sincerely hope this isn't indicative of what is to follow." Hester pushed her hat into Amelia's hands and undid the bow on the long black cloak that sat heavy on her shoulders. "I said at the time we were being too lenient. I hope we don't all come to regret our actions in this matter."

Amelia bit her tongue. Arguing with Hester wasn't going to do anything to help Constance. She edged round the woman and gestured down the corridor. "Please Mistress Buckweed. There is tea and light refreshment waiting for us in my study. You must be tired after such a long flight."

Hester snorted in derision. "I have no time for your petty distractions Miss Cackle. I need to locate a suitable room for questioning. My fellow investigators will be along shortly."

"Fellow Invest… I thought the council sent you?"

"There are to be three of us - as is stipulated when any witch convicted of a level three offence transgresses the terms of their licence."

"Transgresses the…" Amelia was struggling to keep up with the turn of events.

"I want her broom placed under magical restraint and her room sealed - the woman is to be considered a flight risk."

"Surely that's a little unnecessary given how she's behaved for the last…." Amelia tailed off as Hester made a series of sharp motions in the air with her right hand. She could feel the Hester's magic as it went about its work.

"Never under-estimate," Hester advised. "Better to be safe,"

Her piece said, the investigator strode on. Amelia watched her go, and wondered if it would be possible to get Constance out of the school before a meeting could be held. She had the distinct impression that Mistress Buckweed had arrived with her mind already firmly made up."Come along Cackle," the words floated down the corridor towards her, causing an unexpected, and not altogether pleasant memory of school to flash through her mind. She pushed up the sleeves of her cardigan and set off after the woman.

* * *

Two hours later Amelia flopped down on her usual chair in the staffroom and stared at the space where the fire should be. She was exhausted. Mistress Buckweed had dragged her through every floor of the building in the search for the right room in which to carry out the interview. She had offered her the use of her study, but that had been abruptly poo-pooed and the woman had stomped off in search of something of her own choosing, muttering beneath her breath about the state of the school as she did so. After what seemed like an age she finally decreed that a small dank storeroom in the former dungeons was to be the selected room, and promptly caused the entire stock contained therein to disappear.

Mrs Tapioca had immediately waved her arms around in a state of high agitation, refusing to speak to anyone in English. Amelia had tried to placate her; had told her that everything would be returned as soon as the meeting was concluded, but the usually placid cook was not having any of it. She shouted something that Amelia tried hard not to translate and then stormed off to her kitchen, slamming the door shut behind her.

Amelia rubbed her temples and glanced up at the clock on the wall. There was, if she hurried, the chance to get another letter out to the council. She'd known that they'd come, but she'd not expected this level of outright hostility from the word go. Perhaps there was someone a little more forward looking who could act as a mediator.  
She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't hear the door to the room open, and it came as something of a shock when Imogen's voice broke through the silence.

"Who's the new arrival?"

"What? Oh that dear. Nothing, absolutely nothing for you to worry about." She watched as the younger woman immediately placed her hands on her hips.

"Miss Hardbroom has locked herself away in her own room, refusing to talk to anyone, and now there's a hatchet-faced old woman who's stomping round the school as though she wants to reduce it to a pile of smoldering rubble, and you want me to believe that there's nothing going on! Come on Miss Cackle, what gives?"

Amelia sighed and opened her mouth to try and find the least damaging version of the truth to tell her colleague, but it was Mistress Buckweed's voice that boomed out into the cold air.

"What gives, as you so colloquially put it, is that I'm a senior member of the witches council here on official duties, and you my dear girl, as far as I can ascertain, have no business involving yourself with the affairs of witches." The tall spindly figure of Hester Buckweed appeared out of thin air. Her arms were folded and her face wore an expression that could only be described as dangerously angry.

"Miss Drill is a teacher in this academy." Amelia was up out of her chair in record time, and manoeuvred herself to stand between the two women. "An act against any member of staff… magical or otherwise would reflect badly on the impartiality of the process."

Mistress Buckweed huffed at the words, but the sharpness of her gaze seemed to lessen somewhat, and moments later Amelia's shoulders sagged with relief. "You will make yourself scarce." The words were aimed squarely in Imogen's direction, and there was no room for argument. "I'm aware that some academies deem it acceptable for young witches to mix with the non-magical. I myself see no benefit. There is nothing a young witch can learn from someone who fails to possess even the most basic proficiency in the arts."

Imogen looked for a moment as though she was going to argue, but then pressed her lips together and wordlessly settled down onto her usual chair. She picked up her book from the table and opened it on the last page she'd read. Amelia chewed the corner of her mouth as she waited for the reaction from Mistress Buckweed. If she'd been the sort to place a bet, then she was banking on Hester being the one to break first.

"I hope this isn't indicative of the sort of school you run," Hester said tartly as her attention swung back towards Amelia. "I trust you also will remain here for the duration of the interview." She paused and Amelia didn't care for the judgemental gaze that followed. "I hope you won't come to regret your propensity for taking on lame ducks."  
Her piece said, she gave a flick of her wrist and vanished from the room as silently as she'd arrived. Amelia stared at the space where Hester had been and let out a long, slow, breath before turning on her heel and heading over to the urn that sat incongruously in the corner of the staff room She busied herself filling the teapot and swirling its contents gently around. Before she did anything else, she needed to centre herself. It wasn't going to help Constance's case if she was at loggerheads with the investigating witch.

After Mistress Buckweed's abrupt departure from the room, Imogen had been expecting more by way of detail from Miss Cackle. She slowly closed the book that lay open in her lap and asked the question that had been nagging away at her from the moment Mistress Buckweed's broom had landed in the courtyard.

"Why are the council gunning for Miss Hardbroom?"

She heard the heavy sigh that immediately issued from Miss Cackle, and watched the way that her shoulders dropped slightly. It was at least a question she could answer. "She broke the rules my dear," was her rather simplistic response.

"Miss Hardbroom?"

"Don't say it like that," came the chiding reply. "There's a lot about the woman you don't know."

"Well, that's becoming apparent." Imogen left her chair and moved to stand by the window, looking out at the heavy rain that was now beating firmly against the window.

"What did she do?" The silence from Miss Cackle told her that she'd asked the wrong question. She quickly apologised. "I'm sorry. This….this is a little hard to get my head around. She's so by the book, so strait-laced, she enters a room and the fun is immediately sucked out of it, she…." She tailed off realising that anything she said would not be taken in the way she intended. She watched as Amelia opened and closed her mouth a few times before finally deciding on an explanation.

"She was…involved… in a rather regrettable incident when she was younger."

Imogen wanted to shake Miss Cackle by the shoulders until she told her everything she wanted to know. Her delicate silences were starting to drive her mad. "I take it you know the full details?"

Amelia nodded. "She told me herself before I agreed to take her on."

Imogen had had occasion in the past to wonder how someone of Miss Hardbroom's obvious magical ability had ended up somewhere like Cackles, but 'last chance saloon' had never been one of the scenarios she'd envisaged. She frowned as she spotted two other witches coming into land; weaving slightly as they fought against the elements. Vicious crosswinds were now sweeping across the courtyard.

"Were you expecting anyone else?"

She saw the frown that darkened Amelia's face for a few moments before it was quickly hidden. "They're part of Mistress Buckweed's party."

"Why are we suddenly overrun with investigators? Why now?"

Amelia mulled over the next sentence for a few moments. "Were you ever in a gang at school?"

Imogen let out what sounded very like a snort of a laugh. "Are you about to try and tell me that Miss Hardbroom was ever gang material?"

"We don't say gang dear," was the gentle, slightly reproving reply. "Witches, young witches particularly, tend to form covens."

"I've read about those."

There was a definite frown from Miss Cackle, and that was slow to disappear. "You may have read a great many things regarding witches Imogen, but I do wish you'd bear in mind that the majority of them are written by people who have never had cause to come into contact with a real witch in their life."

Imogen held up her hands, to show that she hadn't intended to cause any offence. "I'm sorry Miss Cackle. Please; tell me more about them."

"The coven that Constance was involved with when she was at school… They are the reason the investigators are here. She was told to have no contact with them; ordered to never consort with any of them ever again."

"That's a very… draconian measure."

"It was considered a necessary action at the time."

"And I'm guessing she's seen one of them…" The conversation she'd walked in on between the two teachers sprang to her mind. "She's seen one of them whilst she's been off on that annual trip of hers, hasn't she?"

Amelia nodded. "And that trip is connected to the whole affair. She won't thank me for telling you this but that coven was dangerous."

Imogen rubbed at her temples as she tried to square away what Miss Cackle was saying. "You don't think she's done anything wrong though?"

"No." The reply was immediate; fired back almost the moment the question had been raised. "There is no way that Constance would choose to have anything to do with any of those girls again. The thing that they did…" Amelia shuddered. "Forgive me Imogen. This is Constance's story to tell."

"Well she can't very well say anything whilst she's shut off in that room of hers." Imogen's patience snapped. "If we're going to do anything to help her, then I need to know what happened."

Amelia looked at the young woman levelly. "They sought to steal magic from a powerful wizard. They broke into his house and tried to steal what he'd spent a lifetime amassing. Witches are better designed to carry magic than the non-magical, but it is an ability that grows with age and experience. They broke just about every line of the witches code, and it was a miracle that not all of them were killed."

Imogen fell silent as Amelia's words struck home. She wasn't sure what she'd imagined the crime had been, but it wasn't on that scale. She raised a hand as Amelia's words turned themselves over in her head. "Not all of them were killed?" she sought out the head teacher's gaze. "It cost a life?"

Amelia nodded sadly. "I know of one death."

* * *

Constance sat on one side of the table and glared at Hester Buckweed. She understood exactly why the investigator was within the school walls, but the woman seemed to be enjoying her role a little too much.

The furniture in the room consisted of simply a table and four chairs. Lights were provided by means of a spell, and Constance half suspected that they were also recording everything that took place. Buckweed was flanked by two stern-faced witches, who said nothing, but took notes about everything. Mistress Buckweed exchanged a nod with her fellow investigators and then turned her attention to Constance.

"It's been a long time since we had cause to see you Constance. I trust you are well?"

"Let us dispense with the pleasantries." She failed to see the point of maintaining any sort of charade.

Hester's sour expression deepened. "We can do this one of two ways. I don't see the need of making it more unpleasant than necessary."

"Ask your questions."

Hester narrowed her eyes, but refused to comment on the remark.

"Explain to me how you came to meet Alice Wellspring."

"I explained everything in the letter,"

"I'd like you to explain it to me.. To us. You were not supposed to have any contact with her." The tone was accusing, and it was something that Constance took immediate exception to.

"I did not choose to have contact. She was there, waiting for me."

"And you didn't just walk away?"

The words needled. "Contact had already been made. I thought it best to try and find out what she wanted."

"I suppose I needn't remind you of the oath that you took, the promise that you made to…"

"No!" There was a dangerous edge to her voice, "You of all people do not need to remind me. I went to the hill as is my custom… she was there. I assume she knew I was coming."

"And it was just her?"

"I'm sorry?"

Hester stared down at the book she'd been making copious notes in. "Wellspring. She was the only one who was there?"

"I am not in the habit of lying. I have said she was the only one there…"

"And you make a habit out of going to a place you were forbidden…" Hester butted in again, her tone matching Constance's.

"I do not go to the place - the 'place' as you very well know is no longer within the current plane. There is nothing that says I am not permitted to visit the hillside."

"You choose an unwise interpretation of the ruling. Why go back to that place? You must realise that it raises questions that will be very hard to answer."

Constance straightened up. "I am not afraid of questions. I have nothing to hide."

"I'd tread very carefully if I were you," Hester warned sharply. "I only need to have proof of contact to have you recalled before the council. A meeting that will only have one possible outcome."

"I was the one who reported the contact. I would not have done so if I'd had anything to hide."

"There were those who thought that you escaped too lightly. Those that thought the punishment should have been harsher. If it wasn't for Hecketty Broomhead you would never have been permitted to practice again."

"I take it you were one of those people?" Constance snapped. "I made a mistake. I am not going to deny one word of that, but I have not stepped beyond the bounds of the code since that day."

"You went to the hillside; you yourself have admitted that. You have gone back to a place where you were expressly forbidden to return." Hester glanced at her two silent partners, receiving a single nod of agreement from each of them. "I can do nothing but act in accordance with the tenets of the witches code..."

"This is nothing more than a sham," Constance protested, unable to keep her temper in check.

"You dare to stand against the council?"

"If the council representative is determined to twist the intent of the ruling, then I don't see that I have much choice."

"That ruling was far too lax in my opinion."

"But it's not your opinion that's being sought here. The council handed down their findings and I've lived by those ever since."

"You at least got to live… to practice your magic… unlike Veronica Quickthorn."

Constance's hands balled into tight fists; an action that wasn't lost on Hester. "Do you not think the Quickthorn family would be unhappy to hear that one of their daughter's killers was making regular pilgrimages back to the scene of the crime."

"I did not kill Veronica." Constance forced the words out.

"You seem to put a lot of store by the original verdict of the council," Hester turned the screw further. She slowly and deliberately turned the pages of the book that she'd been writing in, finally selecting the one she wanted, and running the heel of her palm over it to flatten it. "You were found complicit in the death of Veronica Quickthorn, Your actions, and the actions of the other members of the coven were decreed to be directly responsible for the loss of life that night." Hester glanced up from the book. "Nothing to say all of a sudden?"

"I did not kill Veronica," Constance repeated the words, her voice lacking its previous energy, her attention fixed somewhere in the middle distance. "He killed Veronica."  
"His may have been the magic that struck the fatal blow, but she was only within those walls because of the rest of you."

"We were children and we made a very stupid mistake. We paid for that more times over than you can ever imagine."

"And you think that absolves you of your guilt? You went to that hillside, you went to where the barrier between this world and the next is at its thinnest and you expect… what? Understanding? You sit there with your painted on respectability as though that young girl's death meant nothing to you."

Constance pushed her chair away from the table; the loud rasping sound it made against the stone causing the older woman to jump, and headed for the exit

"I have not given permission for you to leave the room."

Constance swung back to face her, her eyes burning, but she was pulled up short.

"You threaten me, and I will see to it that you never set foot within this school again." Hester pointed a bony finger in the direction of the door and released the lock. "One step outside of this room and everything is over. Everything; do not think that even a witch of your prowess is above the law."

Constance hesitated for the briefest of moments before pulling hard on the handle and stalking from the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Constance paced back and forth across her room, her fingers flexing as she struggled to control the anger that was still coursing through her. The words of Buckweed drilled their way into her mind. She was still tainted as far as the council were concerned. No matter what she had achieved in the intervening years; she was still viewed through the same narrow perspective as before. She tried to tell herself that the words and the accusations didn't bother her, but she was tired of lying to herself. If they were so convinced that she was already in touch with her former school friends, then why didn't she just confirm the beliefs they already held.

Buckweed had arrived on the scene with her mind already made up; the whole interview had been little more than a sham, designed to make her lose her temper and she had walked right into the trap. The woman had gone straight for the one detail she knew would get a reaction. She had no pictures, no mementos of her former friends; that had been one of the rulings handed down. She recalled the dog-eared photographs being torn from where they were pinned on the walls, and picture frames smashed as her former teachers ruthlessly turned her room over in search of any item that linked her to the other members of the coven. Everything had been bagged and then burned. She had no physical reminders, but close her eyes and she could still see Veronica and the others. The impressions of them as clear as day.

She strode over to the window and pushed open the heavy wooden shutter that kept out the worst of the cold, clenching her fists as the freezing air washed over her. Dwelling on the past was not going to help. A flicker of movement caught her eye. She made out two fliers, battling the elements as they struggled to get their brooms aloft. Buckweed's lackeys were taking their reports back to the council. The wheels of bureaucracy would move at a surprisingly fast speed at the mere mention of potential impropriety.

She turned away and conjured up the small scrap of paper that Alice had given to her, turning it over in her hand. Alice Wellspring had come looking for her for a reason. In return she had played the situation by the rules, done everything that was expected of her and what had been the result? She was the one viewed as the untrustworthy party; treated as though she had no right to any support from the council. It was time to take matters into her own hands. She collected her cloak from the back of the door, pulling it around her shoulders. If the council were going to play things this way, then what had she to lose by finding out what her former school friend wanted? The memory of the voice she'd heard spiked in her mind, and she fought to bury it again. Its return had come as a direct result of the meeting with Alice. There were answers she wanted, and she wasn't going to get them by sitting quietly in her room, and waiting for the bitter and twisted members of the council to make their minds up about her guilt.  
She cast her eyes over the scrawled address on the paper. To her surprise it was only a few miles away from where they had met. It looked as though Alice had had her own issues with moving on.

She clicked her fingers and waited for her broom to appear beneath her outstretched hand. When nothing happened, she clicked her tongue against her teeth. They had locked the room down. She closed her eyes and sought out the magic. It was easy to locate; the spellcaster proficient enough with their task, but lacking any real flair for the work. She concentrated her energies on the centre of the magic and was rewarded moments later with a gentle popping sound. She held out her hand and this time her broom obeyed the summons. She was tired, and another long flight was not the sensible thing to undertake. With Hester Buckweed within the school she didn't have the time to waste. Her breaking of the spell would be discovered within the hour, and Buckweed would take delight in bringing the weight of the council down upon her. She had worked for so long to distance herself from her former actions, but now it seemed that she was destined to return to her past. She only hoped that her actions would not be made to reflect badly against Cackles.

* * *

The alarm rang loudly throughout the school, and Amelia blearily pulled her dressing gown around her shoulders, muttering darkly as she made her way to the Great Hall and the source of the commotion.

"What on earth is going on?" she yelled at Hester Buckweed who was stationed in the middle of the hall, her arms tightly folded across her chest.

"Where is Constance?"

"I don't know… asleep in her room if she's any sense at this time of the day."Amelia was left shouting into empty air as Hester waved a hand and brought the cacophony to an immediate stop.

"She's not in her room," Imogen confirmed as she made her own way into the Great Hall. "I swung by there on my way here," she explained. "Had the feeling that this little side show was all for her benefit." She glared at Mistress Buckweed, not caring if the senior witch reported her for some perceived transgression of the witches code. She was seriously starting to tire of the woman's behaviour.

"That leaves us no other option," Hester frowned and turned her attention to Amelia. "We warned you this could happen."

"Warned me what could happen?" Amelia stifled a yawn. "She has left her room; that is all we know for certain."

"What do you need her to do before you'll accept what's happened?"

"I don't believe for a second that Constance has gone back to the coven. You only know her as the witch you met twenty years ago. A lot can change in that time."

"So you don't know where she is?"

Amelia clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Haven't I just said that?"

Hester stepped forward and closed the gap between them. "I hope that you are telling me everything you know Miss Cackle. If this coven were to attempt anything again, I need not remind you of what could happen."

Amelia waved at the woman to shut her up. "You obviously don't know my deputy at all. There is no way that she would become mixed up in that sort of thing."

"I believe that's what her mother said twenty years ago," Hester told her without a trace of sarcasm. "We never truly know anyone Miss Cackle, whatever we might like to tell ourselves."

"Well I know Constance a damn sight better than you do." Amelia's cheeks puffed out with frustration. "She has dedicated herself to the craft. She is not going to give that up just because members of her old coven come calling."

"She may not have much of a choice Miss Cackle; I wish you'd at least entertain the notion. Those women are bound together by their experiences. Where there is one; the others will follow."

Amelia shook her head; not wanting to listen to what was being said. She didn't want to admit it, but Hester had a point. The pull of a coven was stronger than anything else; stronger than family in some cases.

"She must be found Miss Cackle. If you know anything concerning her whereabouts it's best you say so now."

"You make her sound like she's some sort of criminal on the run," Imogen moved to stand at Miss Cackle's side, not happy with the way things were proceeding. The sneer that met her comment only served to anger her further.

"She is on the run my dear girl. She has - once again - flouted the rules of the witches code, and I wish the pair of you would stop treating her as though she was just some regular member of staff."

"She is my deputy, and I trust her implicitly," Amelia found herself stating for what felt like the umpteenth time.

"I wish that I could share your faith Miss Cackle," Hester rubbed the bridge of her nose. "She walked out of the meeting; refusing to answer the questions put to her and has subsequently used unauthorised magic to lift a lockdown spell designed to keep her within the school walls. Now, do these sound like the actions of a witch who has nothing to hide from the witches council?"

"Give her till first light." There was no changing Mistress Buckweed's view of the situation, but there was still a sliver of a chance to broker a deal. "She may have just gone to clear her head."

Buckweed looked levelly at Amelia. "The report from my fellow inspectors will be discussed, at length, during an emergency meeting of the council. They will be the ones who decide what is to be done. They will bring their answer here, and if Constance isn't within the walls to hear that ruling, then …"

Amelia raised a hand, not needing to hear the end of the threat. "I get the picture Mistress Buckweed."

"I will be in your office at nine on the dot. I expect you to be there, and if she has any sense, then Constance will be there as well." Her piece said, she gave a flick of her wrists and vanished from the room.

"Do you think she'll be there at nine?" there was a hopeful note to Imogen's question, and Amelia didn't want to be the one to quash it.

"Maybe dear… maybe."

"Where would she go?" Imogen seemed at a loss when trying to imagine a possible destination. "Does she have a family to go back to?"

Amelia stifled another yawn and placed a consoling hand on her colleague's arm. "She will do what she feels is right. I'm sure she'll be back."

Imogen frowned. "You've not answered my question."

"Cackles is where Constance chose to make her home. She will come back when she's ready."

Realising that she wasn't going to get a better answer from Miss Cackle at the present moment, Imogen allowed herself to be led gently from the hall.

* * *

It felt odd; it always felt odd. Constance told herself that she preferred the relative solitude of life within the castle walls; that it was the perfect environment in which to work, but there was more to it than that. She glanced around at the people who surrounded her on all sides and wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else, somewhere where they weren't. There were just too many of them; all of them going about their pointless little lives as though they were the most important people in the world. It was the noise they surrounded themselves with that she couldn't bear. There was no stillness, no quiet within their world; they filled their days with a seemingly never-ending barrage of sound. She failed to understand how they were able to think amid the continual cacophony of the everyday. She was thankful when her route took her off the main streets of the town and their gaudy window displays, and down a narrower, quieter, side street. Her boots clipped loudly on the hard cobbled stones as she covered the ground. She'd reluctantly amended her wardrobe upon landing in the town. Her broom and hat were hidden away where the eyes of the non-magical would not see them. She had bitterly argued over making that very concession only a year earlier, but back then she'd not been trying to avoid the attentions of the witches council. There were still practitioners of the arts in the area; the level of magic in the air was tangible. She needed to remain off the radar for as long as possible, and that meant she had to make a few sacrifices.

Her pace slowed as she reached the end of the road. Ahead of her was a small shop, set slightly back off the street. In swirling red letters the sign above the door told her she was about to pay a visit to Myth and Magik.

The window display was overly busy as far as she was concerned. It was the usual new age rubbish that the girls had a tendency to latch onto in their third year. She turned her nose up at the white painted sign on the glass offering tarot readings, and boasting of crystals and candles and oils for sale within. There was nothing truly magical about any of it; it was the sort of thing that the deluded new-ager liked to cling to when they pretended that they had an ounce of magic within them. She pushed a hand into the folds of her cloak and pulled out the small white square of paper to check the address. There was no need of course; it was the right place. She took a deep breath, surprised to find that her heart had been racing. The voice in her head told her to turn away, to turn away and cast a forgetfulness spell on herself. She shouldn't be here, she shouldn't even be contemplating the meeting with her former school friend. Everything she'd done up till now had been in contravention of the oath that she'd taken, but all of it could be forgiven. One step over the threshold of the shop and it would be another matter entirely; she could risk expulsion from the guild altogether. She could lose everything she had ever worked for, with no possibility of ever getting any of it back. She paused for a second and then reached out and gave the door a firm push.

* * *

The bell above the door jangled loudly as Constance entered the shop. There was a strong smell of incense in the air and the small space was made to feel even smaller by the narrow gaps between the overcrowded shelves that ran the length of the room. Every available surface appeared to be piled high with crystals and trinkets, and nothing that any self-respecting practitioner would want to have anything to do with.

"I'll be there in a minute," came the cheerful voice from somewhere further back. Constance clenched her hands into fists; there was still time to walk away, still time to go back to the witches council and tell them that she had met one of her former friends, but that she knew it was a mistake. She stayed where she was, not trusting herself to move. She didn't hear the words that Alice called out, but she heard the lightness of her tone; a world away from the nervous, concerned woman she had encountered on the hillside only a few scant days earlier. Whatever she was doing with her life; it certainly sounded as though it agreed with her.

There was a wide smile on Alice's face as she approached; it lasted right up to the moment where she realised just who was standing, slightly awkwardly, just inside the door of her shop. Her expression changed straight away. As Constance watched, there was a startling array of emotions that flashed across her features. One of those expressions was most definitely fear; it was a look she was all too familiar with. She gestured back towards the door with one hand, as her host struggled to regain her composure. "I can go….it was a foolish thing for me to come unannounced like this. I should have called ahead."

There was no immediate response so Constance turned and pulled on the door; the bell stationed above it jangling loudly.

"No. Wait!" Constance paused, with one hand on the door, and waited to hear what Alice would say. There was nothing; the woman obviously finding this meeting as awkward as she had found their previous encounter. She had worried about making the trip, but it appeared she was not the only one with issues.

"Constance, please." Alice finally found her voice. It was definitely lacking in strength, more subdued than moments earlier, but there was a note in it that made Constance halt her progress from the shop. "Come back inside and let's have that drink I promised you."

She closed the door again, and turned to meet the gaze of the woman she'd once promised she'd stay friends with forever.

* * *

Alice led the way silently past the congested shelves and through a plastic strip curtain out into the back of the shop. She gestured wordlessly for Constance to take a seat.  
There was a fire in the grate, and it spat and crackled loudly; sparks jumping from the hearth and burning tiny holes in the worn carpet. Alice busied herself in her kitchen, a series of clattering noises as she gathered together the necessary items for her guest.

She placed the tea things down on the small round table and took a seat on the opposite side of the fire. "I'm glad you changed your mind. Glad that you came."

"Hmmm."

"You still not sure you should be here?"

"I know I shouldn't be here," Constance said frostily. "It's breaking essentially every promise we made."

"That we were forced to make."

She chose to ignore the correction. "How are things?"

"I get by," Alice told her and then gestured towards the archway that led back to the shop. "It's not real magic, but I like to feel as though I'm keeping my hand in."

"You no longer practice?"

Alice shook her head. "Not since that day." She looked down at her hands and twisted the white handkerchief she held tightly between her fingers. "I…" she risked a glance in Constance's direction. "I..I can't believe that you still do." Constance stiffened but said nothing by way of reply. "I still think about it," Alice admitted. "I think about who we were, and that just seems like a different person, not me at all." Constance felt the woman's gaze shift again in her direction. "And you; what do you do?"

"I teach." It was more information than she wanted to give out, but it was information that was already out in the wider world, so it seemed pointless to deny it.

"You do more than that," came the reply. "I may not practice, but I could feel the increase of magic in the air the moment you stepped through the door…the moment we met on that hillside. To wield so much… Does it not scare you?"

Constance shook her head. "I have mastered it. There is nothing to be scared of as long as you know your limits."

Alice plucked an iced cake from the plate on the table and bit into it. Her eyes stayed fixed on her visitor. "It's too dangerous." She muttered between mouthfuls, the fear evident in her voice.

"Anything is dangerous if misused."

Alice shook her head, the braids in her long blond hair falling across her face. "I'm glad I'm free of it.,

"It is part of who you are," Constance reminded her sharply. "You don't choose it. You either are magical or you are not."

"I don't believe that. You can choose….I chose. I walked away from it….gave it up."

"And the others…?"

"What of them?"

Constance had been hoping Alice would trip up on that particular question. "You have seen the others, haven't you?"

Alice took another mouthful of cake to avoid answering.

"Alice you must tell me. I already have the council out looking for me. Tell me if I need to worry about meeting any of the others."

"I… I…"

"Where there is one…the others will follow."

She shook her head. "All that is behind us. I'm not a witch; I'm not bound by the rules they lay down."

"You will always be a witch. It's not just what you are, it's who you are. You cannot simply wake up one day and choose to be someone different."

"I did."

"No you didn't. You put magic away, in a box. Pretended it never existed. There's a difference."

"Have you really changed so much?" Constance felt herself under a great deal of scrutiny. "You were so very different back then. You were adventurous, you were so bright, so eager to learn about the world around you. Look at you now, locked away in that castle of yours, falling back and becoming the very sort of witch we promised we'd never be."

Constance chose not to comment on Alice's mention of a castle. There were only a handful of schools that resisted the pull of the modern world and remained within castle walls. It looked as though her former school friend had been doing more than a little digging.

"I promised I would look after the magic I had, put it to good use."

"And you think you're doing that now?"

"I know I am." She was puzzled by the question. "Why do you ask?"

"Why did you go to The Grange? Why did you go back there of all places?"

It wasn't a question that Constance wanted to answer. It wasn't something she ever really thought about. It was simply something she did. She shrugged her shoulders. "I go because I must."

"I don't know how you can bear to be near that place."

"I go because we cannot simply forget and pretend it never happened. In my experience running away from something seldom works."

"Are you saying that's what I've done?"

"No….I…" Constance frowned as she narrowly misjudged the distance between the cup she was holding and the table. The delicate china rattled against the edge of its saucer, and it took her two further attempts before she was able to seat it where it belonged.

"Are you feeling alright?" Alice's voice was strangely muffled, and Constance shook her head, trying to clear the fogginess from her mind. "You look a little pale, are you sure you're alright?" The voice was only barely audible above the rush of white noise that filled her head. Her vision tunnelled, colour bleeding from her peripheral vision, leaving only a narrow view in black and white. She fought against the sensation, but felt her heart rate increase as it too picked up that something was amiss. Cold perspiration prickled her skin and she attempted to rise from her seat, to try and shake the lethargy that was washing over her in crushing waves. There were voices that she could just make out through the roaring in her ears, new voices, ones she was certain hadn't been present a few moments earlier. She tried to turn to face them, but her limbs refused to obey her commands. Her knees buckled and she sank down onto the worn carpet, consciousness ebbing slowly away till the blackness engulfed her.


	5. Chapter 5

Amelia stirred the silver spoon around and around in the cup. She watched as the liquid swirled and lapped against the side of the slightly chipped china. She was exhausted, but didn't want to call a halt to her efforts, didn't want to give up on Constance without at least making some sort of breakthrough. Her eyes burned with weariness and she fleetingly thought about trying some of the wide-awake potion that her deputy seemed to live on. She pushed the thought away. She was not going to help things if she over-worked and ended up crashing just as she was needed.

She had always considered herself a loyal witch, obeying the code because it made a lot of sense; paying her dues when they were owed and enjoying the benefits that came from being part of the wider witching family when things got tough.

When you reached a certain age as a witch,it was accepted that there was one of two ways you could go. To the great relief of the witches council, the vast majority of those leaving the academies chose a path where they would work hard and benefit their chosen community. There were always those who strayed from the path and needed to be called to heel; she'd experienced enough of that with her own sister, but in that particular case it had been necessary. Agatha had always been hard to live with and had never seemed to appreciate that magic was a gift and something to be nurtured and crafted. She had always wanted to bypass those spells that grew things, or worked in harmony with nature. She had always wanted to concentrate her energies on those spells that were connected to the darker side of the arts. Constance was nothing like her. Constance studied the craft, wanted to learn every possible thing about her chosen specialisation. It wasn't right to sit back and let her be judged because of decisions she had made in the past. Those decisions had been unwise in the extreme but, unlike Agatha, she had worked hard… perhaps too hard to make up for them.

She glanced up blearily as there was a knock at the door. As far as she was aware Imogen was the only other person still within the school. "Come on in dear," she encouraged as she placed her cup down on the table next to her.

The door opened and Imogen entered, looking just as defeated as she younger woman slumped down onto a chair. "So have you finished with Mistress Buckweed?"

Amelia ran the fingers of her right hand across the top of the table. "I think it's safe to say that I've said all to her that I intend to."

"Right." There was a frown and a pause. "And is she going to go back to the council with some further damning report?"

The tips of the fingers were brushed across the top of the table again. "I think it's safe to say that the next time she speaks to the council, her outlook will not be positive."

Imogen opened her mouth to say something and then shut it again, something niggling away at her.

"You knocked?" Amelia prompted.

There was a look of confusion for a second before Imogen explained herself. "I didn't see Mistress Buckweed leave; I assumed that you were still engaged in talks." She looked around. "Where is she?"

Amelia waved the question away. "She's around," she replied airily.

"You seem awfully laid back about it."

"There's nothing she can do right now, trust me."

"What's going on? Is there something I should know about?"

"No dear," Amelia's answer was firm. "It's much better for you if you know nothing about what's going on."

There was a scrape of chair against stone floor as Imogen rose to her feet. "What exactly have you done?" she looked around, trying to see if anything was out of place. She looked back at Miss Cackle, but there was a look of practised innocence on the woman's face. "You're definitely up to something, you've definitely….ahh…." She tailed off as her eyes took in the large glass tank that now appeared to have pride of place on top of the bureau by the window.

"Leave that alone dear," Amelia advised her as she made her way towards it. Sitting at the bottom of the large tank, munching on a piece of leaf was a rather large snail.

Imogen looked at it intently, and then back at her head mistress. "That isn't…." She turned and looked again. The snail seemed to be giving her a very piercing stare. "Oh my god…. Oh my good god. It's her, isn't it? You've only gone and…. You can't do this!"

"Well, as you can see…"

"Well, yes," Imogen corrected herself. "You can do it, but I really don't think you should be going around turning investigators from the witches council into snails." She squinted at the creature in the tank again. "That is a snail, isn't it? I've never really been that up on my molluscs."

"Firstly, yes, it is a snail, and secondly, what would you have me do? Mistress Buckweed there was all for launching a full scale search for Constance, and not the sort of search that would have ended with a nice cup of tea and a slice of cheesecake at Cosie's."

"An actual witch hunt!"

"Please don't call it that dear, it is rather tacky."

"But that's what it amounts to, isn't it? Since the moment she parked her broom in the broomshed I've had the distinct impression her mind was made up. Everything else has been mere pretence."

"The witches council aren't very big on forgiveness," Amelia confessed. "Too many witches in the past have been altogether too quick with the 'I'm really sorry, I'll never do it again' line, only to cast a spell on some poor unsuspecting individual the next. They've got a zero tolerance policy now."

"But Buckweed's attitude was beyond hard line; she'd convicted Constance before she landed." She stopped, as she realised who she was talking to. "You're the one who turned the woman into a snail. You know that she was out of line."

"I know that she had her own agenda," Amelia corrected. "She was gunning for Constance, and I'd like to know why."

"But turning her into a snail!"

"That was a little 'heat of the moment' I'll admit. She was about to fly out of here and bring the weight of the whole council to bear. I had to buy myself some time." Amelia pushed herself to her feet and made her way over to the tank. "I'm really not sure how I'm going to explain this."

"Getting Constance back here and proving that she had nothing to do with reuniting with her former coven would be a start surely."

Amelia said nothing for a few moments before tapping smartly on the side of the glass. "Can you make sure that Mistress Buckweed has a daily supply of fresh leaves and can you clean her tank out regularly as well. There are certain standards one has to maintain when one takes on the responsibility of turning a fellow witch into a snail."

"Why will I need to do this?" Imogen wanted to know; already fairly sure of what Amelia was going to say next.

"I need to find Constance. I need to get out there and persuade her to come back and speak to the council." Amelia bustled towards the door, muttering something about a hat under her breath.

Imogen watched her open-mouthed for a few seconds. "You can't leave me here," she finally protested. "I'm not baby-sitting some snail whilst you go and look for Miss Hardbroom."

"And why not? You have something against snails?"

"No! I….I'm coming with you."

"Really!" Amelia stopped dead and turned to look at the younger teacher. "I didn't think the two of you got on?"

"Well…" Imogen halted as she realised that Amelia had raised a very valid point. "I don't suppose we do, but I've no wish to see anything happen to her."

"And you're happy to use magic to get to our destination?"

"What? I…" Imogen tailed off as she realised she'd not really thought things through. "I was thinking we could take the train, or maybe a bus."

"I'm a witch of some standing," Amelia reminded her pointedly. "I do not take the train!"

"Where do we start this search? Constance isn't exactly renowned for her outgoing, gregarious nature!"

Amelia had one hand on the door. She drummed her fingers against the well-worn wood. "I think I might know someone who can help."

* * *

The cottage was small. Stone walls, whitewashed many years earlier, were now almost lost behind a heavy curtain of ivy that threatened to smother the tumbledown building. The cottage stood alone at the end of a deeply rutted track. It had taken them the best part of an hour traipsing though the village before someone had finally told them where to find the place. Imogen felt that it was only politeness that prevented the villager they stopped from asking why they wanted to find that particular address.

She took a step back and glanced up, half-expecting to see a face peering out at them from an upper storey window. She'd been more than a little surprised when Miss Cackle had suggested coming to Hecketty Broomhead for help. She'd only met the senior witch on two occasions, and neither one had given her the impression that she was any sort of a friend to Cackles.

"She is the only other person who can tell us more about Constance," Amelia had reminded her when she suggested that perhaps they should give up on this particular idea.

Imogen wasn't sure that she wanted to hear anything that Broomhead had to say, whether or not it would turn out to be useful. The woman, quite frankly, gave her the creeps.

There was a huff of annoyance from Amelia as her knocking on the front door went unanswered. Imogen was about to suggest they try peering through the letterbox, when it dawned on her that the door didn't have one. She glanced around but failed to locate anywhere the local postman could leave anything. It was, she supposed, one way of avoiding junk mail.

Without warning the door was jerked opened a crack. An action that caused both women to take a surprised step backwards. Hecketty peered round the narrow gap and glared with undisguised contempt at the two women. "I don't give to charitable causes, I don't need my windows doing, and if you're trying to sell me double-glazing you are wasting your …." She tailed off as she realised the identity of her visitors. She straightened up but made no move to open the door wider. "What can I do for you Miss Cackle and …" she turned her gaze in Imogen's direction and there was a slight crease of her brow as she struggled and failed to remember the other women's name. She paused, before finishing with. "….and you young woman?"

"Drill," Imogen told her sharply.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"My name," Imogen replied. "It's Drill….Imogen Drill."

Hecketty shot her a look that made Imogen wish she'd not spoken. She was on the verge of opening her mouth and apologising for her own name, when Amelia came to her rescue.

"I…that is we….that is…"

Hecketty cut off the hesitant words. "You've come to talk about Constance." She took in the confused expression on the faces of the two women in front of her. "Well of course I know why you're here. The only surprise is that it's taken you so long to ask."

"May we…"

Hecketty glared at them both again. "I'm not prepared for guests," she retorted tartly before stepping back. The door creaked opened slowly on rusting hinges, and Hecketty beckoned them both over the threshold. There was a moment of hesitation from Amelia; something which didn't go unnoticed by Imogen. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but before she could say a word, there was a barely audible pop, and the air around her smelt faintly of pear drops.

"Protection spell," Amelia muttered as she bustled past Imogen and stepped into the dark hallway beyond. "My magic will keep me safe from anything she might try. You…. You need a little help."

"You think she'll try something?" Imgoen hissed as she watched the headmistress disappear into the gloom. No reply floated back in her direction. "Great!," she muttered to herself, disconcerted to find the way that her heart rate was now accelerating. She tried to tell herself that there was nothing to be afraid of, but the message just didn't appear to be getting through.

"Come on in if you're going to!" Broomhead's voice spat in her ear. "I didn't light a fire just so you could let all the heat escape."

Imogen hurried over the threshold, and tried not to yelp as the door slammed shut behind her, Broomhead's disembodied voice still ringing in her ears.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Big thanks to those who have reviewed - it's great to know you're out there :)**_

* * *

Imogen took in her surroundings. Ahead of her was a narrow hallway shrouded in darkness, the only source of light coming from a doorway on the right. She jumped as a black cat hissed at her and arched its back as she entered the room, warning that it didn't want them in its territory.

"Don't mind her; she just doesn't like visitors."

Imogen looked around the gloomy sitting room and got the distinct impression that the cat wasn't the only one with a preference for being left alone. There wasn't anywhere obvious for visitors to sit. There was a tall hard-backed chair next to the fireplace. The indentations in the upholstery making it apparent that it was Hecketty's seat. There was a narrow sofa, just wide enough for two people to perch on, but one half of it was lost beneath a pile of worn and well-thumbed spell books, the other half now being kneaded very deliberately by an angry looking black cat; its tail swishing from side to side, beating against the sofa cushions and causing small puffs of dust to rise into the air.

Hecketty pushed past her two guests as though they weren't there and made her way across the room. "Come on in if you must," she snapped at them.

"It's very good of you to see us," Amelia began, but Hecketty cut her short.

"Don't waste time with that idle chatter. You've come here because you want to know about Constance." She took her seat by the fire and turned her beady eyes towards her two guests. "Come on in if you're going to. I don't have all day." She paused and sniffed the air. "Pear drops?" Her gaze settled on Amelia. "You really have no faith in me at all, do you?"

"It pays to be cautious. Imogen here isn't what you'd call au fait with the witches code, and it's terribly hard to replace non-magical staff at the best of times, let alone in the middle of term."

Imogen was certain that she had just been insulted, but couldn't prove it. Broomhead wafted them towards the sofa again.

"I don't think your cat wants company," Imogen offered as she caught the unmistakable sound of a low growl followed by a warning hiss.

Broomhead shot her a withering glance, waved a hand and the sofa promptly vanished. There was an alarming thud from the floor above, and a plaintive yowl from the cat.

Moments later, an even tattier sofa appeared in its place. This one was devoid of both books and cat. "Sit, sit," Hecketty instructed as though magically moving sofas around her cottage was something she did on a daily basis. After exchanging an uneasy look, Imogen and Amelia did as they were told. Imogen's hand closed over the arm of the sofa as though she feared it might take off without warning, like some out of control fairground ride. She'd never been very good with rides, or anything that caused her feet to leave the ground for long periods of time. One thing she definitely didn't need in her life was to lose the contents of her stomach all over her headmistress. Next to her Amelia fidgeted, and Imogen had the impression that the older witch was just as uncomfortable with the present situation as she was.

"You're here about Constance?" Broomhead nudged them back towards the reason for their visit. "I heard about the council sending an investigator out."

"She's gone." Amelia decided it was best to just get straight to the heart of the matter. That way there were fewer opportunities for Imogen to put her foot in it whilst they made polite conversation and danced around the real reason for their visit.

"Gone?"

"Vanished. Disappeared off without warning," Amelia elaborated. "I was wondering if you might know where she'd go…. Whether she might…"

"She would not entertain the idea of seeing any of that coven again!" The firmness in Broomhead's tone surprised Amelia somewhat.

"You seem very certain. Could it not be possible…"

"They were forbidden from ever having anything to do with one another again, lest you need reminding." Broomhead spat the words out. "I took the girl on when no-one else would deal with her, and I made sure she knew the consequences if she dared to cross that line again."

Amelia pressed her lips together and said nothing. Constance had already admitted to seeing one of their number; given the vitriolic response, it was one detail she didn't want to share with Broomhead.

"Mistress Buckweed seemed to think that Constance would rejoin them; implied that she might not have a choice in the matter." She paused. "You knew all the girls, didn't you?"

"I never knew what they were up to." The words fell from Hecketty's mouth like the lines of a well-rehearsed speech. "We encouraged the girls to band together. Friendships are so important for girls of that age."

"Do you know where any of them are now?"

"Besides Constance, the only one of their number I know the whereabouts of is Audrey, and she is in no position to help anyone."

Amelia chewed her lip, knowing that the words had been carefully chosen. The cunning old woman was making them ask for more help, making them ask her more and more questions. She was spoonfeeding them just enough information to keep them on the line.

"What happened to Audrey?" Imogen, it seemed, didn't care whether or not Hecketty was toying with them. In all probability she didn't appreciate just how manipulative the woman could be.

"Audrey has been a resident of Ash Vale these past twenty years." Hecketty sat back in her chair and folded her hands across her lap.

Imogen looked to Amelia for guidance. The name meant nothing to her, but judging by the way the other woman tensed, it certainly meant something to her.

"It's a sort of hospital," Amelia explained quietly.

There was a snort of derision from Hecketty. "Well, that's one way of putting it," she remarked. She turned her dark eyes towards Imogen. "As you can imagine, it would be most unwise to let those who have broken the codes serve their sentences alongside the non-magical." The last two words looked as though they left an unpleasant taste in Hecketty's mouth. "Many years ago the senior witches and wizards agreed that there should be a place of incarceration for those who were deemed too dangerous to be permitted their freedom."

"The place is more than that," Amelia was quick to counter. "There's no need to try and scare the poor woman."

"The complex also houses a hospital for those who are unable to control the magic that flows through them." Hecketty admitted. "That is where you'll find Audrey. I did try and talk to the staff, but they were unwilling or unable to explain her comatose state to me. Either she is kept sedated because the magic she touched is too strong for her to wield, or her own body went into shutdown to try and contain it."

"The magic she touched?" Imogen looked to Miss Cackle for guidance, but got nothing. It was an exchange that didn't escape Hecketty. She raised an eyebrow. "Keeping secrets from those around you Amelia?"

"It's not my story to tell," Amelia countered smoothly, determined not to let the manipulative old witch get under her skin. She watched the knowing shake of the head but refused to rise to it. "Is there nothing more you can tell me about that particular group of students?"

Hecketty's lip curled at one side in an approximation of a smile. "Oh there's plenty I could tell you, but nothing that would help you locate them."

"Anything you could tell me could be vital."

"Where there is one, the others will follow."

Amelia frowned; certain that she'd just missed something. "I'm sorry?"

"It's what they used to say… you never saw one member of that coven without one of the others being close by."

"But you said that Constance wouldn't…"

"She would steer clear of them. She knows what would happen if they were to be reunited. She knows what she would lose."

"You think the others are still connected?"

"Without a doubt."

Hecketty turned her attention towards the fireplace and the dying embers of an earlier fire and clicked her fingers. Immediately the fire roared into life; bright orange flames consuming the wood that lay in the grate. She held her hands out and warmed her gnarled fingers. "You need to find that group Miss Cackle. You need to find them before Constance does."

Imogen was about to protest that she'd been very deliberately left out of the sentence but then decided that she just didn't have the effort. The room was suddenly feeling too hot and close; the smoke from the fire catching in her throat. Her eyes felt impossibly heavy.

"Come on Imogen, it's time we were leaving."

Imogen blinked and looked around. For reasons she couldn't fully explain, she had the distinct impression she'd just missed something. She looked between Miss Cackle and Mistress Broomhead, but their expressions told her nothing. She rubbed at her eyes; the tiredness she'd felt only moments earlier lifting from her shoulders.

"I thought we were…" she tailed off as she struggled to remember what they had just been talking about.

"I think we've learnt everything here that we're going to," Amelia told her with a sharp edge to her voice. She rose to her feet and nodded in Broomhead's direction. "If you're sure that there's nothing else you can tell me…"

"I only wish that I could Miss Cackle, but I was only fully aware of that coven's actions after the fact."

"Very well. We'll carry on our own little hunt. Can I rely on you not to say anything…"

"Miss Cackle, the council will come calling because I took on the responsibility of tutoring that girl when no-one else wanted anything to do with her. I will not lie to them, but I will tell them what I told you. She is not the same person she was back then."

* * *

The world was revealed to her in stages. She first became aware of sounds around her. There were voices; they came and went. Sometimes hushed whispers, other times loud, angry exchanges. The words washed over her and she didn't have the ability to separate one from the other.

She was cold, and the wall against her back was rough and uneven. Those were solid tangible things and she clung to them as she waited for the rest of the world to fall back into place. A dull ache filled her head and she recalled the slightly bitter aftertaste of the tea she'd drunk. Her first suspicions had been correct; there was more to her meeting with Alice than a simple catching up on old times.

She slowly opened her eyes and tried to gauge her surroundings. The world was nothing more than a series of blurred outlines. She blinked, waiting for her eyes to regain focus.

"So you decided to rejoin us." It was a statement rather than a question. Constance concentrated her attention on the blurred outline that had uttered the words. It took longer than she liked, but the blur slowly resolved itself into sharper focus. Short, dark cropped hair framed an angular face. One that presently wore a sneering expression. The woman wore a suit that was at least one size too small, and heels that were too dainty for someone of her stature. Although she'd not seen her for a number of years, Constance immediately recognised her.

"Stephanie," she acknowledged the woman with a curt tone. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me what all this is in aid of." Her voice was not as strong as she would have liked, but with the way her stomach was churning, she was pleased that she was at least keeping her last meal in its proper place.

"Surprised to see me?"

"Where there is one, the others will follow," Constance intoned the phrase that had been oft repeated when they were young. Even without her usual sharp view of the world, she saw that her words had an impact. "You thought I would forget?"

"With the efforts you took to distance yourself from the rest of us, I wasn't sure what you'd remember."

"We were ordered to keep apart," Constance reminded her. "There is a difference."

"We share a bond. One that can never be broken."

"This is hardly a symbol of trust." Constance lifted her arms and indicated the rope that was bound tightly around her wrists. "Why the need for all this?"

"Trust has to be earned," Stephanie said as she picked at an invisible spec of dirt on her jacket. "It will do to keep your magic at bay until we are certain which side of the fence you are on. You can't sit on it forever Constance. You have to make a decision; to pick a side."

"What is all this about?" Constance tried to understand what was driving her former friend. "You, Alice….who else?"

Stephanie wagged a finger in her direction. "You'll know when the time is right."

"Audrey, Clara, Andrea?…" she paused, scanning Stephanie's face for some sort of reaction. "Eliza…. Eliza is here somewhere; isn't she?"

Stephanie's expression didn't change. Constance heard the sound of a door opening, and moments later Alice was at her side. She was chattering nervously away, and trying to help her to her feet. Constance shrugged her off as soon as she was able, and drew herself to her full height. She was slightly taller than her former school friends and she intended to use anything she had at her disposal to give her an advantage.

Stephanie indicated the chair that she should sit on, but she made no effort to move towards it.

"We can stand around all day, playing these pointless games or you can find out why we brought you here."

Alice was again flitting around at her side and she reluctantly let the woman guide her to the chair. She was shakier on her feet than she cared to admit, and given that she had no idea where she was, and what lay beyond the four walls of the room she was in, she decided that it was politic to play along. Alice poured water from a jug into a glass and pushed it into her hands. "This will help clear your head." She tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry for …. For… for this. We weren't sure how you'd react."

"Alice!" The tone of Stephanie's voice carried a warning, and Alice duly backed away to the far side of the desk to stand beside her.

Constance took a slow sip of the water, her eyes fixed on the pair who were sat across from her; waiting for Stephanie to make the next move.

"So how long has it been?"

"If you'd wanted to organise a reunion; there are simpler ways to go about it," Constance told her dryly. "We both know exactly how long it has been."

"You never wrote, you never called…." Stephanie tailed off as she sat back in her chair, ignoring the way it creaked ominously. "It was like you suddenly stopped caring. Was that before or after you sold us all out?"

The question was designed to get a reaction, but Constance was determined to disappoint her. She stared at the one spot of wall in front of her that appeared to be in focus and willed her senses to come back up to full strength. Alice was no sort of threat; she never had been, she was still the same simple-minded idealist she had been at school, and by her own admission she no longer practised the craft. Stephanie….Stephanie was an entirely different prospect. The only things Constance could go on were impressions that stayed with her from school days. A lot could happen to a person in that time; it would be foolhardy to underestimate her. The others? Were any of them involved? She was sure she had heard more than two voices back in the shop, but she couldn't be certain. If she was here then she was certain that the others would have been summoned as well.

"Why now?"

"Why not?"

She scanned Stephanie's face; searching for some flicker of emotion; something she could try and exploit.

"I'm sure Constance just wants to work with us." Alice's voice broke across the silence that had been building in the room. "Surely we could…" Alice pushed further, but Stephanie was quick to shut her down."

"What? Have her turn us all over to the witches' council? Have her betray us all again?" She shook her head. "No. She stays as she is until we know a little more." Stephanie kept her attention fixed on Constance, a fake smile that carried no warmth fixed in place. "You don't mind now, do you Constance?"

"It is scarce worth asking the question, when I have no choice."


	7. Chapter 7

Imogen placed her hands on her hips and stared at the building in front of her. She had been expecting a fortress, something with thick walls and guards at the gate; a place bristling with security. She was somewhat surprised to find herself facing a plain looking two-storey building that looked more like the retirement home they'd settled her Granddad Arthur in than a top security prison for the magically unstable.

"Don't judge by appearances," Miss Cackle had told her, without explaining further.

From the way that Miss Cackle led the way, Imogen had the impression that it wasn't her first visit to Ash Vale. She wondered fleetingly if Agatha was the only member of the Cackles family to have gone spectacularly off the rails.

The walls inside the place had been painted an unenthusiastic grey. The air had the unmistakable tang of bleach and, from what Imogen could work out, no-one seemed willing to look anyone else in the eye. There were a lot of furtive glances in their direction from the staff as they tried to ascertain if they were truly visitors, or patients trying to brazen their way out of confinement. Again Imogen's thoughts turned to Agatha. If Miss Cackle's twin had spent any amount of time within the walls, then she could understand the unease of the staff.  
It wasn't a question she wanted to broach, but as another nurse ducked back into a side ward and slammed the door shut, she realised that she had her answer.

"The family requested no visitors." The nurse on station had been all smiles when they'd first approached. She looked as though it had been several years since her uniform properly fitted, which Imogen privately suspected was due to a yo-yo attitude towards food and dieting. Her greying hair was cut into a long bob that bounced in time with the rest of her as she moved around the department. She had smiled warmly at them as they'd approached and asked their names and who they wanted to see. As soon as Miss Cackle had mentioned Audrey, her whole demeanour switched, her smile contorting into a scowl and immediately barking out the stock sentence that she now repeated parrot fashion whenever a question was asked.

"So she is here?" There was still a smile on Amelia's face, but truly now it was only there for show.

"No visitors," the nurse repeated, dropping the reference to the family as she tired of repeating herself.

"I'm sorry…." Amelia pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose and peered over the top of them at the name badge pinned to the woman's ample chest. "….Mary…" she finally worked out from the blur of letters in front of her. "We've come rather a long way, this is rather an important visit, so please excuse me if I don't give a damn what the parents of Audrey Hawthorn did or did not request."

Whilst Mary's face coloured to match the fire extinguisher that stood in the corner, Imogen debated whether or not it was wise to place herself between the two women who were now most definitely squaring up to each other. Experience gained in the past two years had taught her that standing between two practised members of the spell-casting community was not something that sensible non-magical people did. She'd found herself staring up into the slightly amused, but mostly disapproving glare of Miss Hardbroom more times than she cared to remember during her first term. The lecture that followed usually involved the rather unnecessarily sarcastic suggestion that she might be well advised to teach 'ducking' as part of the sporting curriculum.

She left the two women to paw the ground and took a look at the list of room allocations that was pinned handily on a nearby clipboard. There was little to betray what the women had done to warrant a place on the floor, but all twenty rooms in the ward had an occupant. One A. Hawthorn showing as the longest resident.  
Imogen walked wordlessly over to the door, and stared in through the small pane of glass. "She's over here," she said finally, as she sensed a lull in the escalating argument behind her.

Moments later Miss Cackle was at her shoulder, elbowing her out of the way.

"You can't go in there," Mary said somewhat redundantly as Amelia pushed open the heavy door and entered the room.

There were no concessions to comfort within the small space. There were no windows; the four walls of the room were all painted the same dull shade of off-white, with no picture or painting to break up their starkness. Besides the bed, the only other objects in the room were the neat stack of machines that were keeping Audrey alive and a rather wilted bunch of flowers that had been thrown unenthusiastically into a vase. The air was filled with a steady hum of machinery, punctuated by a regular beep as the machine regulating the comatose witch's heartbeat informed anyone who cared to listen that the patient was still alive.

Mary muttered something offensive in Amelia's direction and then stalked off in search of a doctor, or security, or someone who would pay attention to her. Amelia had stopped listening to her; her eyes drawn to the white-haired witch who lay motionless between the heavily starched sheets. There was nothing to the woman, the arms that lay on top of the covers were so thin as to be almost skeletal; her cheeks were sunken and she looked to be at least twenty years older than her actual age.  
She heard the gasp from behind as Imogen came to stand beside her. "I thought Mistress Broomhead said that Audrey was at school with Miss Hardbroom."

"She did," Amelia replied distractedly, as she tried to see if there were any residual signs of contact with a strong magical entity. Powerful magic had a tendency to leave a trace, a signature form that could identify the wielder. She sighed inwardly as she got nothing from the room, but the smell of antiseptic and a stronger feeling of nervous energy radiating from Imogen.

"What happened to her?"

Amelia bit her tongue, promising herself that she wasn't going to lose her patience. She tried quietly shushing the woman; hoping that she'd take the hint, but as she heard the slow intake and release of breath she knew instinctively that Imogen was pondering another question. "Yes it was magic, yes it was very powerful magic, and no it's not a subject that it's considered polite to discus in front of a witch who's not in a position to answer back." She paused for a moment. "I'm sorry Imogen, I know this is all new to you, but I must ask that you let me take the lead, and if you have questions, please leave them until we're alone."

There was a huff of a breath and then silence. Amelia wanted to say more, but at that moment a harassed looking doctor entered the room, an out of breath Mary hot on his heels. "Tell them," she ordered the man before he'd even had the chance to adjust his stethoscope and introduce himself. "Tell them what the parents said."

From the way that the young man smiled at her, Amelia got the distinct impression that someone at some point in his life had told him that he had a way with witches. She met that winning smile with a firm set of her jaw and folded arms. She watched as his confidence faltered slightly.

"Tell him." That was nurse Mary again. She wasn't much taller than Amelia, and the doctor towered over both of them. The young man with a mop of curly brown hair had to be over six foot and he was currently being bullied by the two women in front of him. He tried a smile again; less confident of success.

"Audrey's parents did request that she not have visitors."

"Really? And when were they last here to request that?"

"I'm sorry?" the doctor looked rather flustered; unaccustomed to having his word questioned.

"Audrey's parents," Amelia pushed her point home. "The Hawthorns….When did they make that request?" She was quietly confident that no-one had been to see the patient in a long time. The lack of immediate response from the doctor proved her point. "Well, if they don't care about the welfare of their daughter, they should be glad that someone else is showing an interest." She glared at the man, daring him to challenge her. "I have some questions Doctor…."

He looked down at his feet. "Milligan," he replied quietly.

Amelia drew herself up to her full height. "I don't think we require the presence of nurse Mary any longer. I just have a few questions for you about your patient." She paused. "I take it she is your patient?" The doctor mumbled something by way of a reply. "Speak up man. What's wrong with you?"

"I am her doctor."

"Well, I'm glad we've cleared that up." She looked past the doctor to the fuming woman behind him. "Nurse Mary, if you wouldn't mind."  
Puffing her cheeks out with obvious frustration, Mary stalked from the room.

* * *

Constance stared down at the rope that encircled her wrists. She had tried every spell she could think of, but nothing worked. The suppression enchantment on the rope was a powerful one, but it wouldn't last indefinitely. She would keep testing it, waiting for that moment where her magic would break through.

She angled her head towards the door as she heard movement from the other side. She had been waiting patiently for the past hour for someone to come back. Alice had plucked at Stephanie's sleeve, whispering something in the taller woman's ear until she had been swatted away and Stephanie had reluctantly left, muttering something under her breath. Constance had sensed that Alice had wanted to stay and explain herself further, but she had pulled up short and settled for a nervous smile before scuttling from the room and pulling the door closed behind her. Aside from the turn of the key in the lock, Constance had heard nothing further until now. The key once again scraped in the lock and the door swung silently open.

"I hear you've been hiding yourself away from us all these years?"

Constance squinted at the figure who was haloed by the light out in the hallway. She'd known that there had been someone else behind the whole business, and as she saw the other woman in the doorway, she realised that she'd always expected it to be Eliza. She'd not been the brightest or the best of them, but she'd had a fierce ambition. She might never have topped a class, but she knew how to manipulate those around her to get what she wanted. She had charmed the whole school; Constance didn't think there had been one girl in the whole place who hadn't wanted to be friends with her. She included herself among their number.

"I did wonder if you'd show."

"Not even feigning surprise Constance?"

"What would be the point. I knew this couldn't be Alice's doing. She's too easily swayed by those around her to have come up with something like this. And Stephanie…Stephanie's too busy looking for someone to blame for her own lack of ability. There had to be someone else. Someone else standing just out of sight, pulling the strings, and from our coven… well, it just had to be you."

"Do you ever get tired of being so smug?"

"What of the others?" Constance glanced around at the small room. "Did they answer your call so eagerly, or were they wanting to do nothing more than leave the past buried where it should be?"

"Where there is one…" Eliza intoned the phrase and waited for Constance to pick up the rest of it. She narrowed her eyes when the sentence was left hanging. "Come now Constance, have you forgotten your allegiance?"

"Allegiance?" Constance shook her head. "We owe it to each other to never meet again. What we did was foolhardy in the extreme, and you know as well as I that it's left its mark." She took in the slightly unsteady gait of her former friend as she made her way to the far side of the table. "What has it done to you?"

"This?" Eliza coughed as she took a seat, pausing as she struggled to get her breathing back under control. "Why do you imagine that this has anything to do with what happened back then?"

"Because everything we do, no matter how small is somehow connected to that one event. It's the one string that binds us all together. As long as we live it will continue to dog our footsteps." She took in the dark-rimmed eyes and the subtle shaking that pervaded the woman's limbs. "How long have you got?"

Eliza shook her head, her long dark hair sweeping slowly from side to side with the movement. "No. No. You are not dictating the subject of this conversation."

"So tell me why I'm here. Tell me who else is here? Tell me who else has been ruined by that one night?" She scanned Eliza's face, looking for an answer. "The council are looking for me. It will only be a matter of time before they trace my magic to this spot."

"And then you will finally stand with us," Eliza told her calmly, her dark eyes giving nothing away. "I have wondered a number of times down the years why you were spared when the rest of us were expelled."

"Spared! I would hardly call what I went through 'being spared'."

Eliza let out a short bark of a laugh. "Don't you dare sit there and try and tell me that you had it hard."

"I had to face them everyday. I had to face them and have them know what I'd done." Constance blinked away the unhappy memories of that year at college. "I don't think I spoke to anyone for the rest of that school year. Do you know what it's like to be feared? To walk down a corridor and have people move out of your path because they don't want to associate with you. No-one would look directly at me, no-one wanted to sit anywhere near, in case contact with me would somehow affect them."

Eliza wasn't to be silenced. "At least you had an education. No other recognised witch school would take the rest of us. I was lucky; my parents could afford to privately fund my education, but Alice…she'll be the last witch in her family line." She caught the expression of surprise that crossed Constance's face. "What, didn't you think about that whilst you were progressing through the levels? There's no witch family she'd ever be accepted into. Her line will end with her."

"And the others?"

Eliza took a moment and examined the nails on her right hand. "Twenty years and you finally decide that you care what happened to them?" There was another flinch, another slip of the mask before it was smoothly replaced. "Oh I know we all had to agree not to consort, not to meet, but did you really do nothing to try and find anyone?"

"The council ruled…"

"And you obeyed them like some sort of mindless sheep?" Eliza couldn't be bothered to try and contain her anger any longer, slapping her hand down hard on the table. "I always thought better of you. You….you sit there in the ivory tower of your own making and practice the craft as though it's something you've a god given right to do." She pushed herself to her feet, pacing unsteadily along one side of the room. "Giving talks on the finer arts of potion making, whilst the rest of us are forbidden from attending any meetings with other witches." She rounded on Constance. "And don't try and tell me that you didn't know."

"Truly, I had no idea."

"Right, so what….you thought that we all went off to live happily ever after?" There was an anger in her eyes. "That night, that one venture, it ruined us; ruined all our lives, but you…look at you. It's barely touched you."

"Is that what you think?"

Constance's refusal to display any sort of emotion was starting to frustrate Eliza. She wanted to get some sort of reaction from her, some show that she was still the same witch she'd once known, however deep she might have buried that part of her. "You are the only one of us who has the freedom to practice, and yet you lock yourself away."

"I teach," Constance replied firmly.

"You're wasting what was denied us. You squander the gift you have."

"I teach so that no girl will ever do what we did," Constance said coldly. "I make sure they understand just how powerful and corrupting magic can be. I teach them that it is not some toy, some thing to be trifled with. It is a gift, but it is a dangerous one if not treated with the proper respect."

"When did you become so sanctimonious!" The words were spat in Constance's direction. "You were never this dull at school. If I recall correctly, yours was the vote that decided the matter."

She watched as Constance stiffened, finally satisfied that she had found a way in through her opponents armour. "Oh yes. I remember that. None of this would ever have happened if you'd cast your vote the other way."

"No, you can't pin this on me. I wasn't the one who suggested the idea."

"But you didn't exactly object to it either."

"I made a mistake, and I've had to live with the consequences of that every day since."

"No Constance, we've all had to live with it, but you shut yourself away from the rest of us, wallowed in your own small-minded self-pity. Locked yourself up with the craft; dedicating yourself to it" Eliza tilted her head to one side. "What are you? Another Broomhead?"

I am nothing like Mistress Broomhead!" the words flew from Constance's mouth with more venom than she intended. A response that was only met with a wry smile.

"So some of the fire is still in there, however far down you may like to think you buried it. Thought that mention of old Broomhead would get some reaction." Eliza looked levelly at her. "I heard that she took you on as some sort of special project. Is that what finally broke you? Is that what made you the waspish figure you are today?" There was no reply, but that in itself was telling, and for a second, there was a feeling of pity that passed through Eliza's mind. She banished it as quickly as it had formed, quickly recalling to her mind all the things she'd been denied. "We're going back," she told Constance; watching the look of horror and disbelief that spread across the woman's face. "We're going back and you are going to help us."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Well, that was a longer break than intended.**_

* * *

Imogen gritted her teeth as her question once again went unanswered. It had been the same for the past ten minutes and she was fast losing what little patience she had left. Since nurse Mary had flounced off she had been left very much on the periphery of the conversation. She would ask a question, Doctor Milligan would ignore her and instead listen to whatever it was Miss Cackle asked him. She eventually received the answers to her questions, but only after Miss Cackle had rephrased them. She knew she shouldn't let such behaviour get to her, but she was tired of being treated like her opinion didn't matter.

She pulled herself out of her mood as she heard the level of the back and forth conversation between Miss Cackle and the doctor rise in pitch. Miss Cackle was angling for information regarding Audrey, but the doctor was being decidedly evasive.

"Are you saying she'll never wake up?" She had turned the question around and was trying again to get a definitive answer.

"I can't answer that."

"You can, you choose not to. There is a difference." Miss Cackle's bluntness surprised Imogen. She'd never seen this side of her before. She'd always been the friendly, open face of Cackle's who always left everything that required more firmness than a frown to Constance. Imogen now wondered just how much of that was simply a public persona.

The words had clearly struck a chord with the doctor, but it was apparent he didn't want them to see that he was rattled. "I suppose you know who she is," he sneered, making it sound as though he was disgusted because they were in some way connected with her. "You know what she did?"

"She was a young girl who did a very foolish thing," Miss Cackle shot back quickly. "She should have the opportunity to learn from her mistake. What is your point?"

"She was part of that coven. That business at The Grange." That was all he said, as though it was all that needed saying.

Imogen watched as Miss Cackle's piercing gaze focused on the man, trying to work out if he was keeping anything from her. "You're keeping her in this state, aren't you?"

He didn't deny it. He stood there, folded his arms and stared back at her. "I think you need to leave. I think you both need to leave."

"They were little more than children," Miss Cackle shrugged off Imogen's hand on her shoulder and instead went toe to toe with the doctor. At over six foot tall, the man towered over her, and her attempts at looking imposing were rather lost.

"They were children who tried to break the most fundamental tenet of the witches code, lest you need reminding."

"They were children! You can't deprive someone of their entire future because they once ventured down the wrong path."

"There is the larger community to think of," the doctor kept his tone level, refusing to enter into the argument that Miss Cackle seemed determined to have. "If you have any issues then I suggest you take it up directly with the witches council. It is their orders I'm acting on. There has never been any contact from the family; I think they were pleased that the council decided to keep their disgrace out of the public eye."

Imogen looked at the skeletal figure, a sense of horror washing over her. "She's been like this all these years? Alone here for all that time?"

The doctor looked at her disdainfully. "You should be glad she's been contained. Magic like hers has no place in this world."

"Magic like…."

"No… I didn't think someone like you would understand. She's dangerous. There's uncontrollable magic flowing through those veins. There's a potential she couldn't hope to master. What would you have us do? You want to see what would happen if magic like that was allowed an outlet?" He turned his attentions back to Amelia. "You want someone that disruptive within the walls of your school?" He took in the look of surprise that ghosted across her face. "Of course I know who you are. A sister like yours and you imagine I don't know who you are?" He pulled the plastic folder from its slot on the end of the bed and leafed through the pages. "The level of brain activity in here is off the scale…. Still." He stopped as he reached the chart he was looking for; angling it so the two women could see it. "There's something going on in there that can't be measured. You want me to let it out? You want me to invite danger into this world?"

"She was just a foolish girl who…"

"She made her choice. She is where she is now because of the choices she made."

Silence fell upon the room; the only thing to be heard was the constant beep and hum of the machinery that was keeping Audrey Hawthorn alive.

"Come along Imogen." Miss Cackle muttered quietly, gesturing towards the door.

"You can't just leave the poor woman lying there like that?" Imogen struggled to keep her temper in check.

"You have to pick your battles," Miss Cackle told her as she bustled off in the direction of the lifts, her shoes clicking loudly on the polished floor. "This one is not over; whatever the good doctor might think." The lift pinged as the doors slid open on tired hinges. Imogen registered the number of floors displayed on the panel in front of them, tried and failed to marry them up with the size of the structure she'd seen from the outside, but then simply swallowed and said nothing as Miss Cackle stabbed at the button for the lobby. "Wait for me outside dear," she instructed as the lift began its descent. "I have to… powder my nose."

* * *

Imogen knew when she was being fobbed off, but there was a sense of determination in Miss Cackle's demeanour that meant that Imogen let her get away with it. She made her way out through the stark entranceway and glanced back up at the building, trying and failing to suppress a shiver. She wasn't sure that she ever wanted to set foot in the place again.

"Been here years and I'll be damned if that ain't my reaction upon walking out every last time."

Imogen heard the voice and turned her head to locate the speaker. Leaning up against the wall of the building was a woman who looked as though she'd been cheating death for thirty years at least. Her face was liberally marked with deep wrinkles and she squinted out at the world through thick black rimmed spectacles. Piled on top of her head was a shock of vivid ginger hair that owed everything to a bottle and absolutely nothing to nature.

"I'm sorry?" Imogen was immediately concerned that maybe she'd just broken some rule. There was no sign of a name badge, no sign of the pristine, heavily starched uniforms that the majority of staff had been wearing. There was every likelihood that this was someone who belonged within the walls of the hospital, but who'd slipped out for the magical equivalent of a quick cigarette.

"What d'you see that gave you the shivers my girl?"

Imogen dithered over whether she should reply or not; torn between keeping her own council and the lessons regarding politeness that had been drilled into her from an early age.

The awkward silence that had fallen between them was broken by a loud sniff.

"You've no magic, have you?" There was genuine curiosity in the old woman's voice.

"Well I…." Imogen didn't want to connect the dots between the sniff and the question but the two appeared inextricably linked.

"Not an ounce, not the merest hint of anything magical about you." The woman reached out and poked a bony finger into her shoulder. "The non-magical have no place here, no place at all."

"That may well be, but I'm here, aren't I!" Imogen shot the reply back before she could stop herself. Miss Cackle had told her to keep out of trouble. Upsetting witches who were very much past their sell by date, couldn't exactly be described as maintaining a low profile.

"You've been to see her, haven't you?" The wizened old witch sniffed the air once more and pushed her glasses back up her crooked nose. "Disinfectant and neglect; I can smell it on you. You've been to see her."

Imogen shuffled a pace away, to what she hoped was out of reach of the prodding finger.

"Object lesson she is." The bony finger was withdrawn and instead tapped loudly against the side of the witches own head. "Reminds us all that we've got to watch out."

"You know what happened to her?"

There was another sniff. This time it was unmistakably one of derision. "Not a witch alive who doesn't know what they did."

Imogen shot a glance back towards the hospital entrance. Miss Cackle might be back at any minute, or she might be ages. Imogen mentally juggled the situation in her head before smiling at the witch. "What say we sit down and you tell me a few things about it."

The witch made a sweeping motion with her right hand and grasped firmly onto the walking cane that appeared out of thin air. "Come on then my girl. Let's tell you a little about what happened."

Imogen chewed the inside of her cheek and tried to keep her patience in check. She had the feeling that the old witch was deliberately dragging things out. She moved at a pace that even a snail could best, and muttered and complained with each tiny, stumbling step. One hand was gripping the top of the cane that was tapped down forcefully with every step, the other claw like hand was digging painfully into her arm. She swore she could feel the sharp nails digging into her flesh and drawing blood. She allowed herself to be led past a well-tended lawn and onto a gravel path which had raised borders on either side. Interspersed along the path were a series of wooden benches.

With much shuffling and complaining she finally managed to get the witch settled on the first bench and the death-grip on her arm was mercifully released.

"So," the witch drew out the word as she pulled the glasses from their perch on the bridge of her nose and slowly and deliberately squinted at one lens and then the other before cleaning them with the tatty corner of the faded black shawl that was draped around her skeletal shoulders. "What do you want to know?" Without the glasses on, the witch's eyes were like tiny pinpricks. Imogen had the feeling she could wave her hands directly in front of the woman's face and nothing would register. She took a deep breath and went for the one question that was bothering her the most.

"You know who I've been to see. Why is she so reviled?"

There was the sound of air being slowly drawn over a set of ill-fitting dentures. "You don't ask the easy ones, do you girl?"

Imogen pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, watching her breath as it formed vapour in the air. "There are things I don't fully understand about this place."

The old witch let out a rasping chuckle. "There are things I'll never understand about this place and I've been here half my life."

Imogen glanced at the woman out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh don't you worry girl. You're not in any danger from me. I just can't be out there." She shook her head as she pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders. "There's all together far too much of 'out there' if you ask me." She paused and then turned her attention to Imogen. "You came here to see that poor creature kept in isolation. No-one ever comes to see her, no-one ever steps into that room less they have to." She sniffed. "Guess folks are too scared of catching something."

Imogen frowned. "I didn't think you…"

"No no my dear," the witch waved away the words. "Not in the literal sense. When you have a reputation like hers, no-one wants to be associated with you. Folks keep their distance. Turn their collective heads away from things they don't understand."

"The doctor mentioned she had magic she couldn't control."

"That's what they say."

"And you believe them?"

The witch shrugged. "Why would they lie?"

"But I don't understand. If you're innately magical, surely you're designed to carry magic?"

"Ahh, but that's not a limitless amount. No no, we all have our lot. You can build it up, develop the ability to wield more, but you have to put the hard graft in. You can't take shortcuts. You do and well…." She nodded back in the direction of the main building. "You do and you end up like her."

"Do you think she's dangerous?"

"As long as she's kept under, we're all safe."

"And the others?" Imogen bit her lip as she heard the rattle as air was once again sucked in.

"Not my place to talk about them."

"Do you think they're dangerous?" Imogen pushed her point but there was no immediate reply and the expression on the witch's face was unreadable. Imogen waited for as long as she was able before finding herself starting feel uneasy. On the rare occasion where she'd had cause to wonder what her last words might be, she'd never envisaged them being about magic. Her brain processed that thought again. If this was it, it was still better than 'Why are you pointing at me like that!'. She was jolted back to the present as the witch found her voice again.

"They've been touched by a darkness; the sort of darkness you can't brush off." She shook her head. "I'd be keeping my distance from them."

"From what I hear all this happened a long time ago."

"Don't make a difference. That mark is a permanent one." The witch fixed Imogen with a steely gaze. "You know something about one of them? You mixing it with one of them?"

Imogen automatically shook her head.

"You mark my words. Nothing good will ever come of mixing with the likes of them. They've got black hearts, all of that coven. Black hearts."

Imogen wanted to speak up, but the words just wouldn't come. To reveal more might just make things worse. She turned her head as she heard her name being called.

"That who you came with?"

Imogen nodded as she waved; hoping to catch Miss Cackle's eye.

"You sure know how to pick them girl."

"Meaning?"

There was a snort of derision from the old witch. "You don't need me to tell you anything about that family. Her sister's been through them doors more often than most. Right piece of work that one." A bony finger prodded Imogen firmly in the arm. "Where there's one…"

Imogen rose to her feet, automatically brushing her arm where she'd received the none-too-gentle jab. "Miss Cackle is nothing like her sister," she huffed.

"You tell yourself that my girl. Tell yourself as often as you need to." With surprising speed the old witch stuck out an arm and grabbed Imogen's wrist in a vice like grip. "Don't ever say you weren't warned. Do yourself a favour and keep away from those cursed witches. Find yourself better company."

Imogen pulled her arm free and set off down the path, the gravel crunching loudly beneath her feet. She pushed the old witch's words from her head as she lengthened her stride, calling out to Miss Cackle as she covered the ground. Putting distance between herself and the old witch as she quickly as she could.

"Come along Imogen." Amelia told her smartly as she strode down the sweeping driveway towards a waiting taxi. "I think we're just wasting our time here."  
Imogen hurried after her. "Where now?"

"That's something we'll decide on the way." The answer came back as Amelia's fast pace took her further away from her colleague. "All I know is that I want to get as far away from this place as I can."

Imogen glanced out at the building as the car pulled away from the kerb. For just one moment, one split-second, she thought she saw the outline of a tall stone building with turrets looming over the plain functional building she'd recently exited. She blinked and the image was gone. She glanced at Miss Cackle and wondered whether she should ask if what she saw was real or just her mind playing tricks on her. She shook her head. There were somethings she was better off not knowing.

* * *

There were no windows, no way to accurately judge the passage of time. There was nothing but the chair she was sitting on, the table and the single chair the other side. Even the glass of water that Alice had thoughtfully brought for her had been removed. It was as though Eliza wanted to isolate her from everything.

Her former friend's words rang in her ears. There had been a certain amount of truth in what she'd heard. She had left them all behind. She had moved on with her life because that was the only avenue open to her. The council had decreed they should not see one another again, and that had been that. She had thought of them; in those first few miserable, isolating, months she had thought of little else. They had been so close; they had been family to one another, but with Broomhead monitoring her every move, and the burden of guilt resting heavy on her shoulders she had pushed everything down until she could feel nothing, could hear nothing.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a nervous, hesitant, tap on the door. Constance raised her head and glanced in its direction. She knew already who would be standing on the other side, waiting to be granted permission to enter. She was the one being held against her will, but Alice would still be maintaining some degree of deference. The tapping came again; a little firmer this time. After another pause the door creaked slowly open, and Alice poked her head through the narrow opening. "I hope you don't mind…." she tailed off and her fingers drummed nervously against the edge of the door. "I just wanted…"

"Come in," Constance told her quietly, fearing that any loud sound would frighten her away.

"I'm sorry…" she gestured towards Constance's bound wrists as she took a seat. "Eliza said that you might need a little persuading, but I wasn't aware that…." She tailed off again, not wanting to acknowledge what they were doing.

"You weren't aware that she was planning to drug me and bring me here against my will." Constance looked at her levelly. "I knew you were up to something from the moment you poured the tea in your shop."

Alice refused to believe what she was hearing. "You drank it anyway; knowing it was drugged?"

"I could think of little better way of finding out what it was you couldn't talk to me about directly," she said. "I have carried this around with me for twenty years. Do you not think that perhaps I want to be free of it as well?"

"How did you know it was to do with that?" Alice asked the question, and then blushed with embarrassment. "It will always follow us around, won't it?"

Constance nodded. "To a degree… if you let it." She wanted to ask more questions of Alice, but she could see that the woman was struggling to keep it together, burdened with her own unanswered questions. "Thank you."

Alice's brow crinkled with confusion. "For what?"

"For coming to see me, to see how I am." She nodded in the direction of the door. "I wasn't sure if Eliza was going to permit anyone else to come in here."

"She's not in charge."

"Of course she's not."

"I wanted to ask you..about Veronica," Alice jumped straight in with her question, as though scared she'd lose the courage to ask it if she waited.

Constance noted the way that Alice was staring down at her hands. They were tightly clasped together; knuckles turning white with the stress of the situation.

"I don't know that there's much I can tell you," Constance told her honestly.

"But you were with her… weren't you… that… that night."

Constance nodded, not wanting to go back into her own memories, but knowing that if she wasn't willing to share the past with Alice, she couldn't expect anything from her in return.

"What happened?"

"You know what happened."

Alice shook her head. "I don't remember much about that night. I try and try and there's nothing there. It's as though someone's taken away that part of my memory." She rubbed the side of her head. "Mother always said that my mind didn't want me to remember; didn't want me to dwell on what happened."

"Maybe it's better that things stay that way," Constance offered; privately wondering what sort of enchantment had been used on Alice to suppress her memory. Bringing it back now wasn't going to help anyone.

"She was my friend. I want to remember her. I want to remember what happened."

"Remember her as she was."

"Constance please." The words were spoken with a passion that she'd not been expecting and Constance wondered just how many times in her adult life Alice had been palmed off with half-truths and sugar pills. She took a deep breath and unwanted images of that night rushed into her head. "I stayed at the half-turn in the stairs with Veronica whilst the rest of you went on ahead. We were going to hold things back; that was the plan as far as I remember it." She shook her head as she realised the sheer naivety of it. "That we even thought we had the strength to pull off something like that." She broke off and glanced across the table at Alice. "Why do you want to go back there? You told me you didn't practice anymore; that it wasn't something you wanted to do. So why go back?"

"Because…"

"You have a life that you've built for yourself; you have your shop. If it's what you want then go back there. Pack up what you have brought with you and go back home."

Alice shook her head. "I can't."

"Of course you can; the only thing keeping you here is you, and if you don't want to be here…" She let the words tail off, hoping that Alice would finally draw her own conclusions.

"Where there is one…"

"…No," Constance tried to cut her off. "That was a lifetime ago, and you owe it nothing now. Do not let your life be dictated to you by your past. You don't have to do this any of this…"

The conversation was ended as the door to the room was thrown open and Stephanie was framed in the doorway. From the expression on her face it was obvious that she'd heard a good part of the conversation. "Well, well, well," Stephanie's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "What have we here?" She turned her attention to Constance. "What d'you think you're doing?"

"It was my idea," Alice found her voice; immediately standing up for her.

"Really?"

Alice visibly wilted beneath Stephanie's piercing gaze. "I wanted to know… to know about Veronica."

"And you…" Stephanie turned once again on Constance. "What were you gonna tell her?"

"The truth… that there is nothing to be gained by going back there. That the very thought of it is the definition of madness."

Stephanie's gaze was unchanging, steady. "We are going back. You can choose to come with us, or we can make you." She shrugged. "It's all the same to me."

"You cannot do this," Constance told her firmly.

"After all the work Eliza's put in… we're doing it."

"Have you learned nothing?" Constance tried one last time. "We go back in there again and he will kill us as surely as he killed Veronica."

"As surely as 'he' killed Veronica?" Stephanie shook her head slowly. "You're not still peddling that story, are you?"

"What are you saying?" Alice found her voice. "I asked her about it and she wouldn't tell me. Told me she couldn't remember."

"Really?" Stephanie's lip curled in amusement and she turned her attention towards Constance. "After all this time Constance dear, have you still not told her what really happened? Are you still hiding from the truth?"

The words hit home and Constance automatically readied herself for action. The gesture did not go unnoticed and the smile on Stephanie's face grew wider. "Are you gonna do to me what you did to that poor girl, that poor girl who thought she had a friend in you?"

"What is she saying Constance, what does she mean?" Alice's pleas cut into the air. Stephanie kept her eyes on Constance, her head tilting slightly to one side.

"Yes Constance, tell the poor woman. Tell her what you did."

There had been a flicker of anger visible on Constance's face, but it was quickly replaced with a neutral expression. "Ignore her Alice; she is looking to stir the pot, nothing more."

Constance flinched as Stephanie took a pace closer, hands slamming down onto the table, her eyes drilling into her own. "I think you owe her the truth… don't you?"


	9. Chapter 9

There was an unmistakable air of hostility in the room. Constance kept her eyes locked onto Stephanie; waiting to see where her former friend would take this particular conversation. They had never spoken to each other after that night. They had never sat down and discussed what happened. She scanned the face of the other woman and read nothing but hatred there.

"Constance?" Alice's nervous, reedy voice broke the deadlock.

"If she won't tell you, then it's down to me." Stephanie slowly circled Constance, moving round out of her field of vision. "When Eliza and I left them, Veronica was still alive. She had started the binding spell, but Veronica was still very much with us."

Alice looked lost, her gaze flitting nervously between the two women. "No…she couldn't have been."

"Oh, but she was. She was alive and Constance here cast the spell. She cast the spell knowing exactly what it would do."

Alice shook her head, obviously not wanting to believe a word she was hearing. "Tell me she's wrong," she pleaded with Constance. "Tell me she's lying."

Constance looked directly at her old school friend. "Veronica was no longer there," she told her softly. "The magic that was in the air had taken her, she was being controlled by it."

"That's not answering the question," Stephanie told her, wagging a finger in her direction.

Alice's eyes were saucer wide. "You said she was dead. You told us all she was dead"

"Don't put her through this," Constance abruptly broke her eye contact with Alice and made the plea to Stephanie, but the woman wasn't in the mood to listen.

"Tell her," Stephanie's words were firm, unshakable. It was clear that she was going to get her way, whatever she had to do. Constance gathered her thoughts.

"The magic had been building in the air. It was a presence, a physical entity that you could almost reach out and touch. I held the barrier with Veronica until his magic overcame our own. It raced through the building; whipping the air around us and making it impossible to proceed." Constance paused as her mind catapulted her back to the night in question. "That magic overran us both, we'd never faced anything like it before."

She closed her hands into tight fists, her fingers digging into her palms as her memory threw unwanted images of that night into her mind. She had stared into the pale blue eyes of one of her closest friends and seen no flicker of recognition. There had always been a spark there; something that promised that another practical joke, another prank was only a thought away. She had looked into those eyes and they had been lifeless; all sense of character drained from them.

"She was still alive when you cast the spell?" there were tears streaming down Alice's face as she realised what had transpired.

Constance lowered her eyes, not wanting to meet the accusing look on the face of her former friend. "I had no other option. Veronica was gone. He was in control, he had taken over control of her mind as well as her body. If I had hesitated then none of us would have made it out. He would have overtaken me, and then you and then the rest of the coven."

"You killed her? You sealed her up inside that place and she was still alive?" Constance saw the blow long before it landed, but did nothing to get out of its way. Her head snapped to the left, her face stinging as contact was made. "You killed her and you lied to us all about it."

Alice collapsed into loud, heaving sobs, her fists pounding down hard on the table.

Constance turned to look at Stephanie; the woman's face was unreadable. "Did you get what you wanted?" she asked quietly. "Are you happy now?"

"Don't speak to her as though I wasn't here." Alice was shaking with rage, struggling and failing to control her emotions. She looked down at her own hands, and watched as raw magic sparked at her fingertips. She'd not thought that anything remained, but now, as she lost the last of her self-control, back it came; reaching the surface and finding its own way out into the world beyond.

"I never lied." Constance's calm voice did nothing to ease Alice's escalating temper. She wanted to lash out at the women who sat before her; the woman who spoke such damming words so matter-of-factly. "I never lied. I told you that Veronica was gone and that was the truth. I saw her eyes; I looked into those eyes as I cast the spell and it wasn't Veronica looking back at me."

Alice shook her head, not wanting to hear the words, not wanting to have any level of understanding. There had been a chance to save Veronica, there would always have been one last chance. She blinked away the fresh tears that sprang to her eyes. "She's still in there! We left her in there."

There was the slightest of twitches at the corners of Stephanie's mouth. "No-one has set foot in the place since we left it… Since Constance here sealed it up."

Alice was wiping the seemingly never-ending stream of tears from her eyes. "So we go back and we get her out."

"Even after all this time, that wizard's magic may still be viable." Constance knew it was unlikely her words would be listened to, but she had to try and make her voice heard. "We must not go back."

"Would you stop me, stop us from attempting it?" Stephanie argued, and Alice soon joined her voice to the protest.

"If there is the slightest chance that Veronica is still alive…"

"Veronica died twenty years ago," Constance pushed home the words, her voice gaining strength. "He killed her not me, and he will do the same to us if we are foolish enough to go back there. We weren't strong enough then, and there's nothing to say that we'd fare any better now."

Alice rose to her feet and it was only the quick reactions from Stephanie that stopped her from lashing out at Constance again. Stephanie held her friend's shoulders, pulling her away from the table; her own expression making Constance very aware of exactly how she felt.

"She's not worth the effort Alice. We'll let Eliza decide what's to be done."

"Did someone mention my name." All heads turned at the sound of the slightly shaky voice from the doorway. Eliza stood there, both hands gripping the handle of the door for support. Alice and Stephanie were at her side in seconds; helping her over the threshold and settling her down onto a chair.

"Would someone care to tell me what's been going on?"

Alice wiped her eyes; they were red with the spilt tears. She pointed unsteadily in Constance's direction. "Is it true? Did she…. Did she…" her voice cracked and she was unable to finish the sentence.

Eliza reached out and took one of Alice's hands within both of hers; holding it tight. "None of us are proud of what we did that night. We had to get out of there; we had to survive. Constance just did what she had to."

Constance had seen the way the situation would unfold from the outset. Eliza, it seemed, had been the one amongst their number who had changed the least. She had always known how to get what she wanted, how to turn and manipulate anyone and any situation for her own ends. When they had been younger it had been a skill she had admired. She would sit there in silence and watch as Eliza would twist and turn words and events to her will. A born politician one report card home had said, and Eliza had been proud of that label.

"I didn't kill Veronica. That was all his doing. His magic was stronger than any of us gave him credit for." Constance offered up the explanation; knowing that Alice wouldn't want to hear it.

"Let's not talk about that now. Constance; I think you and I need to have a word." She squeezed Alice's hand as the woman stifled another sob. "Stephanie, could you look after Alice for me?"

There was a muttered acceptance and Stephanie led a gently sobbing Alice from the room, leaving Constance alone with Eliza.

"I hope you're proud of yourself. You didn't have to put the poor woman through that." Constance looked levelly at Eliza. "I assume you're the one who put the idea in Alice's head, and made sure Stephanie was on hand to act as the heavy."

"Me?" There was fake horror in Eliza's tone. "I wasn't the one who murdered my friend to save my own life."

Constance's hands bunched into tight fists as she struggled to keep a lid on her temper. "That wasn't what happened, and you are not manipulating me into saying anything of the sort."

"Veronica died, and she was alive when I left the two of you."

Constance shook her head. "This wasn't what played out, and I'm not having you of all people lie about what happened."

"She was my friend and you killed her!" There was genuine anguish in Eliza's tone. Constance waited for a few moments before breaking the tension in the air.

"She died, but I wasn't the one who killed her. Magic took her long before I finished casting that spell. I looked into those eyes and it wasn't her looking back at me." She paused as a thought struck her. "Andrea… Andrea came past as we were trying to get out. She'd remember." She looked searchingly at Eliza. "Have you found her too? Do you know where she is?"

There was a long silence. Eliza sat back in the chair and folded her arms. "Oh yes, I know where Andrea is."

There was something in the tone of her voice that made Constance uneasy. "What happened?"

"So now you care. Now you're forced to face it again. Now you decide that you care what happened to us." Eliza did nothing to disguise her contempt. "Andrea is dead. She took her own miserable excuse for a life five years ago."

Constance closed her eyes and let Eliza's words sink in. Andrea had been the serious one; the one most likely to be found with her head buried in a book. She had enjoyed study, and the others had teased her mercilessly about it.

"I had no idea…"

"Of course you didn't. You never once came looking to see what happened to us."

Constance opened her mouth to say something, but Eliza didn't let her speak.

"I don't want to hear about rules and what the council told you you could or couldn't do. We were family Constance. We were everything to each other and you just shut us out of your life. Andrea… Andrea tried to change who she was. She took another name; tried again to be accepted back into the community but someone realised who she was and she was hounded out of her job and disowned all over again. Somewhere in the midst of all that she decided that it just wasn't worth it."

The words were spat out with venom; Eliza shifting her weight on her chair as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Her breath came is ragged shallow gasps as she ran out of energy and cold sweat pricked her skin.

Constance moved her hands across the table, trying to see if there was anything she could do, but Eliza was quick to pull away. "No," she forced the one word out before wracking coughs overtook her. "I'm not taking sympathy from you, not now."

The coughing finally subsided and Eliza's heavily bloodshot eyes focused on her fellow witch. "We are cursed, all of us. Only you walk without shame. Audrey is locked up in Ash Vale, to all intents and purposes dead to the world. No-one knows what became of Clara." She tilted her head. "Oh yes. Audrey is at Ash Vale. Private room… private prison more like. I dragged her out of the building that night and she was unconscious. She's still in that state. Still separate from the world, separate from us, but I got her out. I didn't leave her there. I didn't let my friend die and do nothing to prevent it."

The words hit their target and Constance tried and failed to stop her mind catapulting her back to that night. She felt the tang of magic in the air. Eliza's emotion was at the heart of it all, but there was something else there, something needling away at her that she tried to push down and deny. Their magic had linked them together that night, but there had been another presence and it was the touch of that magic she thought she could sense in the air.

"Nothing to say?" Eliza was regaining her composure; pushing down her own emotions, but that sense of something other had been there; Constance was sure it had been there. She needed a way to pull it back to the surface again.

"You think that I went through nothing, that I suffered nothing? Do you know what it's like to go home and know that your mere presence causes your family pain?" Constance's voice was calm, without emotion. "My mother; never what you'd call a demonstrative woman, but there was a distancing, a removal of herself from my life after what we did. I'd go home and she'd quietly make excuses and move herself to another room. My father would hide behind newspapers and pretend I wasn't there." She paused, checking that she had Eliza's full attention. "After a few visits I just stopped going back. They never asked if anything was wrong, or when I would be able to find the time…. It just quietly became apparent that I was no longer welcome. Move on a few years and the letters I did send came back unopened. New people in the house, no-one in the community willing to tell me where they'd gone. Oh I have paid for what we did. Do not imagine for one second that I have not. I didn't just lose the family we created for ourselves; that night took my own family from me as well."

There was no immediate reply from Eliza and Constance turned to regard her. "We are all marked by what happened to us. It has stayed with all of us; affected us all in different ways." She paused. "You still hear his voice, don't you?"

"What?"

"His voice; you still hear it." She pushed on.

"Shut up."

"That alone tells me enough. I go to the hill each year. I go and I check that everything is still as it should be. I go and I check that the barrier is still in place, and that no-one else has attempted to gain access. At least that's what I try and convince myself. I tell myself the lie because it's easier than facing up to the truth of the matter." The widening of Eliza's eyes told Constance that she was on the right path. "He is still there in my head, as he is in yours. I try, but I can't catch the words he says, yet I hear them all the same. They are there, just on the very edge of perception…. Needling away at me, demanding that I listen. You hear him, don't you? You wanted honesty from me, well I am giving it to you. I felt the spark of magic in the air, I felt that spark as you threw your own guilt, your own hate in my direction. He is in your head as he is in mine." She paused to take a breath, scanning Eliza's face, hoping to see some sort of acceptance. "The council decreed we should never consort again, I wonder if they knew then that we'd never truly be able to rid ourselves of his presence. He is still there; he is still beyond the barrier in that house of his, reaching out and whispering words directly into our heads. We cannot, we must not go back there. It would be the death of us all."

"He has power; he has his strength still." Eliza hadn't acknowledged anything, but her words told Constance everything she needed to know. "We go in and we take what we need and we bring Veronica home."

Constance shook her head, trying hard to comprehend what she was hearing. "Have you lost your mind; is that it? You open up the barrier to that place and who knows what you'll bring down upon the world."

"We are older now, and some of us at least are stronger."

"It would be suicide." She gestured with her bound hands towards the door. "Would you sacrifice Alice and Stephanie so willingly?"

"I need us to go back in there."

There it was, the admission that Constance had been waiting for.

"Whatever he's promised you; it's not going to happen. You do know that, don't you?"

"What makes you think…"

"You are not well, that is obvious to see. Has he promised you something? Has he told you that he can make it all go away." She reached forward but Eliza only pushed her chair further back from the table. "Going back will not provide you the answers you are looking for. Going back will only kill us."

Eliza didn't reply but drew herself shakily to her feet and crossed the short distance to the door. She pulled on the handle and then paused, not bothering to turn around. "We go back tonight."


End file.
